


Stars and Stripes

by IGotNothin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, Fake AH Marvel AU, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Winter Soldier Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 141,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6438085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IGotNothin/pseuds/IGotNothin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1944 and Ryan Haywood is going off to war. Jack is never too far behind.</p><p>The year is now 2012 and Jack Pattillo is way too far from home. The Vagabond isn't too far behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scrawny Doesn't Mean Weak

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of the Fake AH Marvel AU by icoffeecake/ cakedoodleboop. They’re on tumblr and I highly recommend you guys check out their stuff! It’s awesome!
> 
> Fair warning, I’m going to take some liberties, just so this isn’t boring as all hell. I figure a retelling would suck, a lot, since you’ll just be reading a movie with some names changed, so I’m going to change some stuff around. Even then, you do have to have watched the Captain America movies and the Avengers to understand this. You don’t have to have seen Age of Ultron, or any of the other Marvel movies, and I'll make sure to leave out spoilers for more recent movies (minor exception for Antman)
> 
> Fun Fact- This story was supposed to be around 5k, because I have no management skills. Before editing, it's It's 143k. ;(

The most tragic thing about Jack Pattillo is the fact that she bleeds red. She isn’t tragic, because she is female. Nor is she tragic, because of the time she lives in- though that does play a part. It isn’t because she is small, either- she can handle herself, no matter how big the enemy is.

No, her life is tragic, because she is human. She is human, and that makes her weak. It’s as simple as that. She can't win fights with feeble fists and formless kicks. She couldn't serve her country, when her father was buried along with the rest of his infantry, and she can't do anything, now, either.

She goes to all the news reels, and watches every war movie that Hollywood spits out. She watches men, a hundred pounds heavier than her and a foot taller, ramble on about the commercials before movies. They’re all war advertisements, trying to bring in volunteers, so that the draft won’t have to.

She speaks up, but to them she’s just a woman. A pathetic, worthless, and fragile woman. They won’t fight her. That would be an affront to their strength. Most of them will just shrug her off, or call her a “killjoy”.  
This time, however, is much different.

There is a tall man, digging into a tub of popcorn, and spitting out kernels, whenever he speaks. He complains about the amount of time it’s taking. He complains about this “pointless” war. He complains about the draft. Hell, he complains about the uniform.

"Hey," Jack calls out, when he calls one particular soldier a ‘two-timing son of a slut’. "You want to show some respect? People died, so you could have the right to be an asshole."

He sits, quietly, for the rest of the movie, and Jack watches him with the slightest of grins. For a time, she thinks that he is just one of the shruggers. He isn’t.

\---

It’s ten minutes after the movie ends, and Jack finds herself in an alley, weakly guarding herself with scrawny fists. He punches her one- twice, and Jack’s side and face burn more than even her cheeks do. Okay, so maybe that was a bad idea. A very very bad idea.

He goes for a third punch, and makes a show of winding up his fists. She tries to block it, but there is no muscle behind her arms, and the punch drives her own hand straight towards her face. She falls back, and crashes against two garbage cans. She tries to catch herself, but she just continues to topple over. Her shirt tears on one of the lids, and her head cracks against the pavement. It hurts, but she doesn’t let it show. She isn’t going to be that weak.

"You wanna say that, again?" The man says, his tone clipped. There is blood on his knuckles.

She looks around for anything that she can use to defend herself. The garbage lid recaptures her attention. She had knocked over the lid, when she fell, and now it rests beside her knees. Without even thinking about it, she reaches for the lid, and tries to roll back into her feet. The trick is aborted, midway through the roll, when a foot collides with her ribs. She crumples in on herself, and falls into a sideways roll that ends against a wall. She still clings to the dented garbage lid, but it won't offer much protection.

The man pulls back his fist, ready to lay down one final blow. She shuts her eyes, and waits for it. It never comes.

Instead, the man lets out a loud and high-pitched shriek, that stings Jack’s ears. When she opens her eyes, the man is on the ground, blood dripping from a shattered nose. There is a soldier standing over him- Jack can tell from the boots, alone. She has seen those boots in pictures enough.

She has seen the man, before, too. For a moment, she’s annoyed that he’s there. He always turns up, when she happens to be in trouble. It’s making her look like she wants these fights.

“I could have taken him.” She mutters. The man doesn’t bother with answering. He reaches down, and offers his hand. She takes it.

"Yeah, sure. " Ryan says, with a grin. "Sorry, I'm late. I got caught up on the way here. Traffic's bad, you know? What did I miss?"

"Not much," Jack admits, not even glancing at the blood on the floor. It's not hers, and she doesn't care much for the other man, so she doesn't focus on it. She would prefer not to think about it, at all, really. "The movie was pretty good, though."

"Yeah? What happened?"

"I’m not gonna say. You always get pissy, when I spoil shit.”

“Maybe you could just tell me the ending, a little? You know, the part where you end up getting the shit kicked out of you in an alley?” His tone has suddenly gone strict.

He has the air of a man, who witnesses things like this on a regular basis, and has grown far too used to dealing with it. It wouldn't be wrong to assume that. This isn’t the first time they’ve met in the back of an alley. It usually happens after a trip to the bar, if there were talks of insulting soldiers, or kids, or anyone, really. She's usually the one to throw the second swing.

"Yeah, it was pretty predictable," Jack rubs at her jaw. "Always is, though."

"Maybe the protagonist should stop being an asshole.” It's an obvious jab, but Jack just laughs.

"Yeah, no. Never gonna happen." Her side is sore, and the arm that held the garbage can is going to have bruises tomorrow, but Jack doesn't mind. She's standing there, so the real heros don't have to. Even if she's getting pummeled on, at least she has a chance to stand up to the disrespectful. Most people don't take that chance.

Besides, the draft is extending, again. There are going to be people in that theater, who might wake up with a letter in the mail, calling for them to turn their entire lives around. Jack doesn’t want them to think back on an angry man in a theater. She wants to make this as simple for them as possible. It can’t be easy.

She might not have much of a say, but she makes sure to use the little that she has.

Ryan’s going to be going away, too. He is already wearing the uniform, ready to walk away at a moment's notice. His smile is less pronounced- doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s healthy, young, and male. It’s a miracle he hadn’t been drafted, already. He hasn’t mentioned it, yet, and she doesn’t bring it up. She wants to make this easy for him, too.

"You're just so tiny. I just don't want to see you get hurt." Jack suddenly wonders if he even remembers that there is an unconscious body, lying less than six feet away from them.

Apparently he hadn’t noticed, because when Ryan catches her eyes, and looks back at the beaten man, he nervously steps away. The body shifts, and Ryan flinches, a little.

"Did you not notice-"

"Shut up," Ryan says, and then after a moment "Maybe we should start walking, before someone finds us.” It’s not a question, because he’s leading her away, towards the street, before he’s even finished with his sentence.

“Why? Military man’s scared of getting caught in an alley?” It’s a slip up, and Jack bites down on her tongue. It’s too late. Ryan looks down at his uniform and tenses, a little.

“Yeah,” he says, a little awkwardly. “It’s, uh, not at all about the dead body on the floor.”

“You punched him once. I don’t think he’s dead, Ryan.” Jack says. It seems like all it takes to mellow Ryan out is a joke, because there is a wide grin on his face, where moments ago there had been a frown.

“You don’t know! He could be dead! I’m awesome enough to make him dead!”

“Yeah. You’re a badass, Ry. Best in your infantry.” Jack says, sarcastically. Instantly, Ryan’s grin slips, again. He looks down at his suit, and gives out a little sigh.

“Speaking of that-” Ryan starts, quietly, but Jack cuts him off, before he can finish.

“What infantry are you in, anyway?” Jack says it jovially- trying to break through the awkwardness that has overtaken this conversation. It feels wrong to see him so meek.

“107th.” Ryan mutters, barely loud enough for Jack to hear. Her heart sinks, a little.

“The 107th.” She breathes out, as she locks her gaze onto the same patch of floor that Ryan is glaring out. That was the infantry that she was supposed to join, before she was marked with a 4F in six different counties. That was the group that her father joined. It was supposed to be hers- theirs. They should have gone together, but Jack was too small, too weak, and too female to make the cut.

She wants to be happy for him, but she doesn’t have it in her.

“Yeah. And we’re, uh, we’re shipping out tomorrow.” Ryan says. Jack’s heart sinks, a lot.

“Tomorrow? That’s not a lot of time.”

“It’s a draft,” Ryan says. His eyes are directed to the ground. “We don’t really get much warning.”

And as much as Jack knows that Ryan didn’t want to enlist- as much as he has said it, so many times- she doesn’t understand his distress. He’s lucky that he has that ability to join. He can be a freedom fighter, now! He can protect their country and help those who need it! He can stand for the Allies to help those that need up! There is nothing to be broken up about, here.

“So,” Jack shifts from foot to foot. The awkwardness still weighs down on them. “How do you want to celebrate your last day in the States?”

He grins, suddenly, like that is the best question she ever could have asked. He nods his head back towards the alley.

Does he want to go back? Is that guy still there? Does he want to go for a second round? The guy is already down. They don’t need to make this any worse for him. He’s an asshole, already. That’s an awful fate, without beating on him anymore.

If he’s going to hurt that guy, Jack is going to stop him. She isn’t going to let him be the bad guy- especially not for her sake.

Luckily, Ryan strolls straight past the alley, not even throwing a look towards the injured man. Jack does, but all she sees is an empty garbage can with a cracked and dented lid. He must have run off, while they weren’t looking. Good riddance.

Ryan keeps walking, and Jack doesn’t bother to ask where they’re going. She can see it in his eyes- locked onto the theatre in front of them. Ryan stops, as they reach the doors, casting a curious glance back at Jack. She nods, and he directs them to the bored ticket handler.

“Two tickets to-” He trails off, and glances back at Jack, for help. He doesn’t know the names of any movies. Of course not. He probably hasn’t left his apartment, since last winter, judging by his pallor. The outside seems to be his nemesis.

Jack comes to his rescue, rattling off the name of whatever movie she saw barely an hour earlier. It might the fifth war movie of the week, but this one is different because it is about India, and not Germany. She already knows that the movie will barely make its budget back, because no one cares about India, when there are ‘more important’ countries to liberate. Countries owned by the Axis and not the Allies. She’ll support this one as many times as she can.

They sit inside, and this time, there is no bully to laugh at the advertisements for soldiers. There is just a Jack, who stares at the conflict longingly, and a Ryan, who retreats a little further into himself with each shot fired.

\---

There is a promise. While Jack stands by and watches Ryan walk into the recruitment office, she clings to it. There is a hug, a photograph between two friends, and that promised and whispered phrase, that would follow them for years. It will never be explicitly stated, again, but it will hang over their shoulders, until that promise is finally delivered.

“I’ll be back.” He swears, crossing a hand over his chest.

“I expect nothing less.”

Ryan walks into the building, and Jack walks away.

\---

Ryan is gone, and Jack is alone. Alone, with the symbol 4F staining every forged document she’s handed in. She hasn’t counted, since the sixth one, but she thinks that she might be up to nine, now. She’s from Austin, Dallas, Houston- once, even Corpus Christi.

Yet, here she is. Alone, with a document that says that she is from El Paso. This might be her last chance, but then, every chance has been her last chance. The last chance will end with a 1A or a jail cell. Either way, she has to keep trying.

She lies to the admissions officer, but he takes one look at her and shakes his head. When he picks up his stamp, a bold 4F sticks to the page.

\---

It’s the same in Galveston.

\---

And Fort Worth.

\---

She cuts her hair even shorter, and wears the baggiest clothes that she can find. She doesn’t speak, much, and when she does, she forces the deepest voice that she can manages. She changes her gender on the enlistment forms, and is laughed out of the room. No one is fooled.

\---

And Waco.

\---

In the end, her life changes in a small town, that can barely even be considered a part of the United States. It has a population of about 50, and half of them have already been drafted. There is literally tumbleweed flinging through the streets, and the few citizens left don’t take much notice of it.

The fact that there is still a military draft base here is strange, but Jack doesn’t question it. She heard that there was still a chance, and she ran for it, without hesitation. She has no money left- wasted all of it paying drivers to bring her down to a town that lacks a name. This really might be her last chance to enlist, before she meets the third option- trapping herself in a ghost town.

She doesn’t bother to waste any time, once she reaches the office. She has a small bag, filled with clothes and food and water, and brings it with her to the recruitment center.

Her papers say that her name is Jack Smith, and that’s almost the fakest sounding name she could have chosen. It’s only three letters off, really. She laughs a little, when she writes out the form. There is almost no chance of success, but she might as well try. It's what she does.

The recruitment officer- a dark haired man, who barely looks like he is in his thirties- glares at the paper, with an upturned lip. He stops at her name, looks up at her, and sighs.

“Jack Smith?” He says, German accent prominent. He sounds disappointed, and she can't blame her. He looks up at her- taking in the small form and the scrawny arms. There isn't any muscle to be found, but Jack knows that she can build that up. Hopefully, he knows that too.

“Yes, sir!” Jack answers, a little too enthusiastically. He flinches, at the volume, and shakes his head.

“It says here that you have asthma,” he says. “And heart trouble, and high blood pressure. You’ve had multiple illnesses in the past, and you’ve been admitted into hospital care on seven different occasions. Pretty extensive list.”

“Maybe.” Jack admits. She feels stupid, for leaving that on, this time. Usually she would just leave the tuberculosis, and be done with it. This time, she must have forgotten to scratch off the others. After 13 different attempts at this, she must have gotten lazy- Must have pasted the wrong paper onto the form.

A stupid, stupid mistake that could mean the end of this recruitment. Maybe even the end of all of them, if the recruiter realizes who she is. There is probably a list, somewhere, detailing the names of people like Jack. The false enlisters. If this man recognizes her, she’s going to be spending a few years in prison. Not good.

“So, I have a question for you, Ms. Pattillo. Why do you want to fight a war?”

For a second, Jack’s heart stops. The fact that he knows her actual name- that he knows her gender- meant that the gig was up. She is on a list. He has that list. Jack is going to have to spend the next few years sleeping on a bunk, and not the good kind.

She really should have expected this. It happened in Waco, too. She has never been a good liar, and it’s worse, when she is under any sort of pressure. She’s absolutely screwed, now, and she should have known that this was coming.

“Ms. Pattillo?” She asks. It isn't convincing.

“I believe you should know your own name, Jack. Can I call you Jack?” She nods. “I’m just wondering why this is your 13th time enlisting. Curiosity.”

“I think it’s my 14th, actually.” She says. He grins and rolls his eyes.

“You’re procrastinating. Why do you want to fight a war? You are scrawny. You are weak. What is the point of fighting, when you will die?”

The question didn’t make sense. What was the point of anyone fighting? F they didn't want anyone to die, why did they join the war, in the first place?

“Is this a test?” Because no one asks why someone wants to fight. They just ship them off to war, and leave them to their own resolve. No recruiter cares what a recruit thinks. Their job is done, when 1A is stamped on a page.

“I mean, it can be- if you want it to be.” He says. That is a yes. “Answer the question. Why do you want to fight?”

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t really have a ‘why’. I’m just fighting so other people won’t have to.” She says, with a shrug. She doesn’t miss the way that the man’s eyes light up.

“You don’t want to kill Nazis?” He sounds drunk, and Jack almost wants to ask if he is.

“Not really. I just want the war to end.”

“Do you know who I am, Ms. Pattillo?” He asks, softly. She stares at him, and all she sees is a lab coat, frazzled hair, and a golden necklace. She shakes her head.

“Adenoid Hynkel?”

“My name is Joel Heyman.” It’s a German name, but that’s not surprising. The accent kind of clued that off, already. “I work for a very prestigious military branch, and I believe that you would be a perfect fit for it.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Jack was tiny, and weak, and ill in a thousand different ways. She had just insulted her recruiter- had lied in 14 different enlistment forms. She probably wasn’t fit for any branch, except the dishonorably discharged branch. She hadn’t even been charged, in the first place!

“What’s its name? That group?” She asks, finally.

“We’re calling it S.W.O.R.D.- Supreme Warfare Organization of Recruiting Domestics.” It’s a stupid name, and it just looks like they really wanted it to have that acronym.

“Recruiting Domestics, really?”

“It's a working title.

“What do you guys do?”

“We supremely organize warfare by recruiting domestics, Heyman pauses, expecting laughter. When it doesn't come, he sighs. “We like to recruit soldiers, and put them to use in a grander scheme than ordinary warfare. It’s something we like to call Project Rebirth.”

“How?”

“You’ll find out if I let you join. It’s fairly classified information, especially if I’m giving it to you. I need to know what other forms you've lied on, first..” He stares at her, judgingly, but Jack doesn’t back down.

“I’m just supposed to take your word on this?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I do happen to be a high ranking officer of an organization that no one has ever heard of. You should always take my word on things.” He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

“And why’s that?”

“Because there’s a reason that no one has heard of it, and I’m sure you want to know what that reason is.” He grins, now- a small smirk, that barely reaches his eyes. He reaches for the golden sword hanging over his chest, and clings to it.

Jack has three options, here.

One- she can politely decline, and hope that the recruiter will let her go, with a pat on the back and a smile (not going to happen).

Two- she can join the war, like she always wanted to, and she can request to not be a part of this man’s program (he’ll report her, and she knows it).

Three- she can accept, and face whatever challenges she’ll have to face.

In the end, there isn’t much of a choice. Jack shakes Heyman’s hand, and Heyman offers her a bottle of vodka.

\---

Jack feels alone in basic. There is no Ryan to defend her from the bullies. There is no integrity to protect her from the distrustful. There is no morality, to protect her from the cruel. She just has to fend for herself, as a mouse in a field of giants.

The other recruits like to laugh about her gender. There are worthless jabs that she should be spending her time in the kitchens, or in the medical wards, and not with the infantry. They claim that she would be better off back in Austin, where the people are liberal enough that they might let a woman work in a restaurant. Even then, it’s a stretch.

The jokes get worse. On one particular Occasion, Jack retrieved a flag, and was able to ride back to the camp in the Jeep. They laugh about her being too weak to run the whole way, and the fact that she couldn't just climb for it. Never mind the fact that they had all scrambled for the flag, before she ever did. She doesn’t respond- doesn’t bother to mention that none of them could retrieve it, through legitimate methods, so why should she? Why did she need to be better than every one of them?

They keep harassing her- especially after Caiti, an Australian woman who is supposed to be their superior officer, calls her “Dear”. They try to harass Caiti, but she makes them run tour six times in a row- one for each stupid laugh. They stop joking about “Dear”.

The new subject of their ire is her weakness. She can do four pull ups, and they do fifty. She takes ten minutes to finish the obstacle course that took them five. She lags behind, by at least twenty feet, every single time they run.

They keep laughing, when Jack jumps on a grenade (that they assumed was live), to save all of their lives, while they run away screaming. They call her stupid. She should have known that it was (obviously) a dud. They say that her body wouldn’t have stopped the explosion, anyway. She was too small to make a difference. They say that it shouldn’t have been a dud.

Jack writes letters to Ryan, a lot. It's rare that she receives a response, but when she doesn't, it's always interesting. He tells her about the field- about fighting the Nazis, and living with his fellow soldiers. She tells him about boot camp, and he tells her that it gets easier, once she’s out. War is easier than basic. No one would be there to insult her, when they’re knee deep in enemy bullets. Jack tells him that she might not make it to that point, and his next letter is too short and too awkward.

The other recruits find her stash of letters one day. They laugh and laugh and laugh, until Caiti bursts into the room, and asks what they're laughing for.

It's a short stumpy man, who tells her the truth. He hadn't taken part in the bullying- had always stood aside and watched. It's nice to see that change.

Caiti asks if any of them had a family back home- asks if they write them letters. The resounding “no”s just end with Caiti shaking her head.

\---

The next day, a pile of letters end up at Jack’s feet.

\---

In just a month, Jack is stumbling back into the barracks, carrying 60 pounds of weight, with a body that weighs 110. She drops it next to her bed, and lets out a loud sigh of relief. She drops down onto the bunk- a good bunk-, ignoring the many bodies that walk past her on their way to their own beds.

For now, she is safe. Usually, the soldiers only harass her during training, or before. Afterwards, they are all too exhausted, and too tired to focus on tormenting her. She is grateful for those periods of relief.

She doesn’t notice Heyman, until she feels glass against her hand. There is no glass in the base- too much of a hazard for soldiers, who March with live ammunition. It's a stupid rule, but it's helpful, now. She isn't too surprised, when she sees him.

“I have good news!” Heyman exclaims, waving a bottle of vodka in front of her face.

“You’re drunk?” He looks the bottle, and tilts his head.

“Not yet.” He pauses. As if to disprove his own statement, he uncaps the vodka bottle- that he seems to keep on his person at all times- and hands it to her, while he grabs the shot glass. “But I really do have good news, Pattillo!”

“Let me guess, you’re shipping me back?” It’s bad news for her, but probably good for him. He won’t have to deal with a scrawny sack of bones, anymore. The other soldiers will probably rejoice.

“The opposite! The program accepted you! You are going to be the success story! Hopefully!” He gestures for her to pour him a drink, so she does.

“What are you going to do to me?” She asks. He downs the shot, without any sort of problem.

“We’re going to enhance you. Make you bigger, stronger, and faster. You’re going to be better than any soldier here.”

“How?” She asks, while he makes her pour him another drink. She’s not sure if he should be drinking, while working, but it’s his job- not hers. She doesn’t really get a say in his work ethic. As long as he does his job, she won’t complain.

“We have a serum. Made to create a perfect hero. There's been some, eh, complications before, but it could work! Probably! I've edited it, so it'll probably be great.”

She really doesn't want to know about those complications, so she avoids the topic entirely. “How does it work?”

“I dunno. I guess we’ll see tomorrow.” He downs another shot, and he still doesn’t look buzzed. For a second, Jack wonders if he is enhanced. He's three shots in, and he has barely even blinked. Weird.

“And what if I say no?”

“Then we let you stay here at the bottom of the pack. Not much fun, from what I can see, but it is an option, if you do not wish to proceed.” He says. Jack considers it- for about a second.

“What do I have to do?”

He shakes his empty glass.

\---

Caiti is smiling at her. If it’s meant to be encouraging, it doesn’t work. Jack’s heart is beating a bit too fast, and her feet won’t stop tapping. Her hands are shaking, and she shoves them into her pockets.

Caiti notices, but she doesn’t mention it. Jack appreciates it.

“Are you excited?” Caiti asks, trying to catch her eyes. It doesn’t work. Jack looks away, and the floor seems very interesting at the moment.

“Uh, kind of. I kinda just want to get it over with- you know?” And dammit, she’s not good at talking to attractive people. She sounds awkward- speaks a little too quickly at times, and a little too slowly at others. Caiti doesn’t seem to mind.

“I can understand that. It’ll be over, before you know it..” She promises. They slip into another silence, just as awkward as before.

Jack just watches the people go by, as their car speeds past. There aren’t many cars on the road- there isn’t much traffic in Austin. There aren't enough people with cars. Many sold them back to dealers to buy their way out of the draft. It hasn’t been too long, since the depression, after all. There are still too many homeless and too many poor. Too many people who don’t have enough to support themselves.

That’s why Jack is trapped in a car, ready to be sent off to the strangest training session in history. She wants to help those people- to make sure that they will be able to keep themselves afloat. Maybe this surgery thing will make her capable of that.

She doesn't know much about this, but she knows one thing. She’ll be able to help people. That makes it worth it.

They drive past roads that, despite having lived there her entire life, Jack doesn’t recognize. They speed past two story apartments, filled with five families each. Children, of less than six years, roam the streets. Jack can’t help, but notice that there are no adult men to be found. Unsurprising. They're all off in Normandy.

It takes six hours of driving to reach the bookstore. Six hours from the military base to Austin.

Jack has only been awake for six and a half hours, and she already wants to sleep. That doesn't bode well for this enhancement.

They walk inside, and Caiti greets the door woman with a wave and a "It's pretty rainy out there, isn't it?" It isn't, but the other woman nods back.

"I should have brought my umbrella." The other woman responds.

“Next time." Caiti says, and the doorwoman nods, again. This might be the weirdest conversation Jack has ever been privy to.

The woman kneels under her desk. She feels around, and presses some sort of button that was hidden under a stack of three books. Yep, this conversation is definitely getting weirder.

Jack jerks back, when one of the bookcases begins to shake. She notices, suddenly, that there is no dust on those shelves. She should have noticed that, from the start.

Caiti doesn't react when the shelves begin to slide back. She waves at the doorwoman, and walks past the makeshift doorway without another word. When Jack doesn't follow- too shocked by her blatant disregard for the secret entrance. Who the hell even built that? Why do that have that? What has she gotten herself into?

Eventually, she follows the drill sergeant. At least she knows her way around this weird place with secret walls and sunny umbrella days. Jack wants to stick to her as closely as possible.

Behind the bookcase is technology that shouldn't exist. There are monitors, wires, and computers that don't take up whole rooms. There are dozens of scientists, who flitter about the room without care for its new occupants. A young man, with the bushiest eyebrows in history, stands in the middle of it all, barking orders at scientists who sprint to follow his commands.

Caiti walks up, and greets the man with a handshake. The hairy man doesn't accept it.

"Jack, this is Dr. Sorola. He's going to be in charge of keeping you alive. Hopefully he doesn't mess it up." Caiti says, waving towards the man. “Again.” She doesn't sound encouraging.

"Don't mention that… and the serum won't fuck up.”

“So, you're admitting that there was an incident." Caiti asks.

"Fuck you. Don't self-incriminate me. I'm a fucking American. I got rights and shit." Sorola crosses his arms over his chest, and let's out a loud grunt of displeasure. Jack wonders who gave him the permission to be a doctor. What kind of dude is this guy?

"Gus, this is Jack Pattillo, your new lab rat. Please, don't kill her." Caiti says, as if that feeble introduction should encourage Jack not to run away screaming. It barely works.

"I can't promise anything. She is Joel’s, after all. He usually picks the worst of the runts." Sorola mutters, sending a glare Jack’s way. This is the most unwelcoming introduction she has ever been a part of. Really, being greeted with a hail of bullets can't be much worse than this.

"Where is Joel, anyway?" Caiti asks.

Jack is distantly aware of the fact that she hasn't said a word, since they got here, but she doesn't particularly care. This isn't the most compelling conversation, anyway.

Distantly, she wishes that she had been shipped off with Ryan. The 107th would have been good to her- she’s sure of it! She could have gained muscle the normal way. She could deal with being short, if she wasn't front lines. She could have been a sniper! Then, her tininess would have been an advantage!

She could cover Ryan's back, like he used to cover hers. From what he's told her, he's a sniper, too. They could be shooting buddies, and she could tease him about missed shots and long reloads. That would be so much more alluring than a dull conversation about things that she's never heard about. As much as she appreciates Caiti, Sorola has not made much of a first impression.

A cold hand grabs her shoulder and Jack is ripped away from her daydreams. The grip tightens, and pulls her away from the two arguing personnel.

It’s Heyman- with his sword necklace, and his stained lab coat, and his easy grin. His hair, as always, is trussed up like he rolled out of bed and walked into work. He stares at her for a few seconds, before his grin slips.

"I take it you didn't bring vodka?" For a second, he is frowning with puppy dog eyes leveled onto Jack. Then, he is grinning, again. "Doesn't matter. What does matter is we're here, Pattillo! Maybe we'll have a _blue_ skull, this time!"

"What?" What the hell is a blue skull? Judging by Caitis expression, she doesn't know either. Judging by Sorola’s scowl, he does.

"Joel," Sorola hisses, eyes narrowed. He grabs hold of Heyman’s shoulder, and pulls him towards the machine that rests in the center of the room. Heyman barely managed to stay on his feet- tripping with every step."We should get started, soon."

"Good idea!” Heyman turns his attention to Jack. “Pattillo, you ready, yet?"

Jack clears her throat, and stares at the machine. It’s more of a pod, really. A bleached white pod, with a thin layer of glass by the top. Wires seem to extent from each inch of it, and they spread into computers that are way too small to be effective. Aren't computers supposed to be as big as a dozen men? They aren't supposed to be as small as her head. They’re never going to work. What are these idiots thinking?

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess." She says, nervously.

"Great!" Sorola exclaims, with just enough excitement that Jack knows it isn't real. "How about you get in the goddamn thing?"

“Thing? Nice way to put it. Very eloquent.” Heyman snarks.

“Shut up!”

Sorola steps behind a large veil of glass. It's a shield, meant to protect him from whatever the hell Jack is about to be exposed to. That's not exactly the most encouraging thought.

Caiti follows him, and shoots Jack an encouraging smile. She stands at the edge of the glass, away from the countless scientists that stream from every direction. She turns- whispers something to Sorola. He lets out a laugh that is sharper than it really should be. Jack doesn't know what she said, but she can't imagine it was anything good.

Jack approaches the pod, one step at a time. Her feet are working on their own accord. Her mind is too distracted to police them. She reaches out, and rolls his hand over the metal shelter. For some reason, she expects it to do something. She expects it to sting or burn or hurt in some way. It doesn't, and that's worse, in a way. At least pain would give a warning of what’s to come. This is just an endless tirade of unknowns.

"You can back out at any time, Pattillo," Heyman promises, sounding absolutely sincere. That sincerity fades, within a moment. "If you're a wuss."

"Thanks." Jack mutters, droll, drawing a laugh from the scientist.

"Let's get started, then!" Heyman announces, louder than before. The scientists scramble to action. They press buttons and pull letters and run to get materials for the machine.

The pod lets out a loud shriek, somehow louder than the sound of Jack’s own heart beats. It slides open, unveiling a cool metal plate with raised arm and headrests. Needles poke out from the armrests, facing towards the skin that it will soon puncture. It isn't exactly a welcoming sight.

"Is it going to hurt?" She knows it will, but even the idea that it won't would be enough of a relief. Heyman is determined not to give that to her.

"No?" Heyman says, unconvincingly. The way that a doctor tells a child that a shot won’t hurt, before he stabs it into their arm with as much force as he can manage.

It's bullshit, but she can't back off, now. She isn't a wuss.

She climbs on top, barely able to pull herself onto it. The needles pierce her palms, but she ignores it, and she rolls onto the middle. She stretches out her arms, resting them just on the tip of the metal. She looks up at the light that burns to look at. Her heart is beating faster, and she's shaking. Every once in awhile her arm gets caught on a needle. The worst part is that she's not big enough for the machine. Her feet barely even reach the halfway point of the machine.

Two orderlies approach- one holding a small steel box, and the other holding a needle that is bigger than Jack’s entire arm. Apparently, they hadn't planned this very well, because there is no way that that needle is going to fit. It will rip through her, like a pencil through paper.

"I, uh, is this a good idea?" Jack asked, half joking and half serious. "I'm kind of having second thoughts."

Despite what Heyman’s assurances, the nurses ignore her. They remove one of the blue tubes, and load it into the syringe without even glancing at her. It is a practiced movement, like they've done it a thousand times before, and Jack wonders if they have. Is she just another lab rat in a maze full of failures? That is not a comforting thought.

Luckily, she doesn't have too long to dwell on it, because, before she knows it, there are needles, that press into her skin, without abandon. They tear through muscle, and only cease their movements, when they embed themselves fully into the bone. They dig into both sides of her arms, pinning her in place. She cannot struggle- cannot move, at all- without stabbing it even further into herself.

Jesus Christ.

One of the nurses ticks with displeasure, as she loads the blue liquid into a canister on the side of the machine. The other one smirks, a little, as she flicks at the tip of her needle.

What the hell? These guys are freaks!

Without warning, and without care, the nurse with the needle approaches Jack, and twists her arm, so that her inner elbow is visible. Jack barely manages to hold back a grunt as that movement jostles the pinned limb. The nurse, still oddly apathetic, doesn't even look at her. She presses down on the plunger, and almost instantly, the pain fades, a little. It's relieving, when Jack can twitch her arm without the debilitating pain of four dozen needles jabbing through her muscles.

"Is that it?" She asks, disbelieving. "That wasn't too bad."

"That was ibuprofen." The syringe nurse informs him, barely hiding her grin. Jack can't help but notice that even from across the room, Sorola's sigh is loud.

But why the fuck does it need that big of a needle?

“Can we get this started, Joel? I have a life outside of this office, you know.” Sorola calls out, from behind his glass shield. He gestures at the room that Jack would not consider an ‘office’.

“You do? I mean, you could have fooled me. I don’t see you out much.” Heyman responds, without hesitation.

“That’s not going to change.” Sorola comments.

“I don’t know,” Caiti says, as if she is also a part of their circle. She might very well be, but Jack doesn’t really know anything about her. She’s just the drill sergeant, who punched a dude, once. It’s startling to realize how little she actually knows about any of these people.. “It’d be nice for you to see the sun again.”

“The sun’s overrated,” then, as a second thought, “And I’m allergic.”

“To the sun?” Jack chips in, unable to stop herself. She’s not completely naive- she understands humor, when she hears it- but this doesn’t sound like a joke. Sorola’s face is unmoved, without a smile to even hint of anything other than pure and absolute honesty.

“Yes, I’m allergic to the sun. I’m a fucking vampire.” He lets out a low hiss, and bares his teeth. Jack lets out an awkward laugh, but Sorola just grunts. “Let’s just start this shit.”

Heyman nods, and waves at the orderlies. The one with the syringe shakes her head, and strolls towards the glass shield. The other stays with the machine, still feeding her blue tube into the scrawny woman before her.

Jack watches, with fascination, as the serum drains through the transparent wires, into the machine, past the needles, and finally into her veins. She watches it collect under the skin, bubbling up into large bluish-green sores, and feels vaguely sick. It’s not an attractive sight.

What are they doing to her?

“You ready to go?” Heyman asks, fingers hovering over the underside of the pod. He’s not looking at Jack, but when she nods, he seems to understand. He twitches a finger and the second he’s does, he steps back. Apparently, he doesn’t want to be up close to whatever is about to happen.

There is a ridiculously loud creaking, as metal scrapes against metal directly over Jack’s ear. She watches as large steel plates slowly begin to encompass her, with only that small glass visor to see through. Nothing is happening yet and she doesn’t know why.

Maybe it’s painless. Probably not, but a girl can dream, right?

This is going to suck.

“Are you okay in there?” Heyman says, tapping on the glass. His face is colder than before, and far more calculating.

“I kind of need to use the bathroom.” Jack says. Heyman lets out a laugh.

“Might have to wait on that one,” He says. He waves his hand towards Sorola, and Jack can’t see, after that.

She shuts her eyes, but the world’s brightest light still manages to break through. Her pupils feel like they’re burning, and her muscles feel even worse.

Every inch of her body is on fire, from her bones to every individual hair on her head. She doesn’t know when the pain started, because already, she cannot think. She can feel the blue liquid, now blue lava, rushing through her veins. She can feel her bones shift, and her skin tear, as muscles begin to outgrow it.

This is happening way too fast.

“That’s 10 percent!” Someone- she doesn’t know who- yells.

That’s ten percent? Holy shit, what’s the other 90 like?

Her mouth is growing, along with her head. Her teeth are starting to settle in, straightening where they had once been tightly fit. It’s an odd sensation, but a little bit of a relief. She’d been worrying that she might have to remove her wisdom teeth.

“That’s 20 percent!” The same someone declares.

Her heart is beating faster than anything ever, before. It pumps out enough blood to fill a giant, and she knows that she will need that blood soon. If she doesn’t fail, at least. Right now, with agony in every nerve, she kind of wants to fail.

“30 percent!” The voice sounds slurred, like it’s being yelled through a tunnel.

Her head slots perfectly into the headrest, now, and she’s not even halfway there. She’s going to outgrow the pod, soon.

“40 percent!”

She’s having trouble thinking- too distracted by everything. She would open her eyes, but the light is too bright to determine if they aren’t already open. She could just be blind, but she wouldn’t even know if she was.

“50 percent!”

She forces her eyes open, and no, she’s not blind, because that is pure light is filtering through her pupils, without the small vestige of a relief that her eyelids bring. She shuts them, quickly, but now she has a migraine, as if the rest of the pain wasn’t enough. It’s really nothing at this point. Just another tortured nerve amongst the many others.

“60 percent!”

There is a loud scream, and she’s not sure if it’s her, or the pod. It rings through her ears, that are already sore from this unnatural growth. She can smell a barbecue, somewhere, and she wonders if that’s just her.

“That’s 70!”

No, the screaming is definitely her. Her throat is ripped raw, and she’s only aggravating it, now.

“Shut it down, Gus!” Someone- not the someone that she doesn’t know (even if she doesn’t know who this new someone is)- screams.

“Gus, stop!” Another someone says. “Stop the machine!”

“Don’t,” Jack yells, and she’s not sure if they can hear her. She can handle this. Just thirty more, and she’ll be done. She can do this. “Keep going!”

There’s no response, and she worries that they won’t hear her, but then she hears a loud “80 percent,” and she lets out a low sigh, that aggravates her throat.

“90 percent!”

The announcement comes, and there’s no celebration from Jack’s end. She barely even hears them say it. She just knows that, somewhere along the line, she stopped screaming.

“100 percent!”

The light dies down, and the pod lets out a low _ding_ , as if she is bread in a toaster, and she is finally done. She really doesn’t appreciate the _ding_.

Eventually, when the soreness in her muscles depletes, as if it was never there at all, she forces her eyes open. She sees a dark world, desaturated and cold, and she lets out a sigh of relief.

It’s over. It’s done. She’s fine.

The metal doors of the pod retract and Jack grins. She hears a gasp, and then a cheer.

It's over. She can be something, now.


	2. Finding Friends and Making Enemies

Heyman is dead.

That is the only thing that runs through Jack’s head, as she chases this newfound enemy. Heyman is dead, and the serum is gone. Caiti, luckily, is safe, and the serum can be remade, but right now, Jack doesn’t have the brain to think about that.

But fuck, what happened?

Jack runs on newly made feet, stumbling with practically every step. Her hands are shaking, but she’s too overcome with adrenaline to stop. She runs, faster than she has ever gone. She’s faster than ever, stronger than ever, and taller than anyone she has ever run before. She can catch this criminal, even with her new balance problems.

She doesn’t want to kill him. Even if he did kill Heyman, she didn’t want that man’s legacy to be one of death. She wants to capture this enemy, and hand him over to- to who? Why did he even attack? What the fuck is going on?

It doesn't matter. Her understanding is unportant. The only important detail is that the killer hasthe barrel of his gun placed against the child’s head. The boy lets out a loud screech, and struggles to escape from the killer’s grasp. The man doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he care.

He keeps running towards the docks, and Jack only hesitates for a second. She doesn’t want a child to die for this. The killer doesn’t have any serum, and he doesn’t pose any sort of threat to the nation. If it means that a child doesn’t die, Jack can let him go.

Except, as soon as she hesitates, he sweeps the child off of his feet, and throws him off of the dock. The boy goes down screaming, waving his arms in the air, as if trying to fly back to shore. 

The hesitation is gone. Jack runs towards him, fully intending to leap to his rescue. He is not going to die. He is not going to die. He is not going to die, because some spy infiltrated their base. No, no, no, no, no! He's not dying!

His head pops out of the water, and Jack’s heart slips out of her throat.

“It’s okay,” the kid yells. He’s waving his hands in a practiced attempt to keep himself from sinking. “I can swim!” Jack doesn’t believe him. He’s floundering like a fish on land. Kid doesn’t look like he’ll be able to make it more than a minute.

She almost stops- almost jumps into the water to save him, but there is no need. An old man throws his top hat on the floor and leaps into the water. A woman, with a face full of makeup and a purse that is worth more than Jack has ever seen, follows him. A sailor jumps into a boat that is already twenty feet below them.

She doesn’t need to stay. There are others who can be the heroes, today. She just needs to be the soldier, and protect the masses, instead of the individual.

She runs. She fails.

Moments later, she is underwater and chasing the murderer to a submerged ship. Surrounded by broken glass, and holding her breath in a submerged submarine, she never gets the chance to drag the killer back for interrogation. He has a pill halfway through his throat, even as the water starts to pour in. 

He screams “Hail Hydra!” as the submarine rises back to the surface, and only stops, when foam drips from his mouth to his shirt. Jack hauls him out of the ship, and drags him onto a wooden deck. He’s heavy- not as much as he should be- but it’s still as if Jack is hauling a 20 pound pack.

The killer doesn’t react. 

She throws him down onto the wood, lucky that the ground didn’t splinter. She is quick to press down on his chest, and pumps as hard as she possible can. Five of his ribs shatter, and three break, and he doesn’t even blink. She keeps doing it- over and over, until there is blood in his mouth, and no ribs are unbroken. She keeps going, until Caiti is there, to inform her that, no, that man is dead. Are you okay, Jack?

The answer to that is a profound “No”, because Heyman is dead, his killer is dead, a child was almost killed. They gained nothing from this, but lost far too much in the process. The serum is gone, and if Heyman is gone, they aren’t going to get it  back. So, no, she isn’t fine, and isn’t his heart beating? She’s beat on it a thousand times! Why is it not beating? She needs it to beat- it has to- there’s no way it won’t!

Caiti pulls her away, but adrenaline is still pumping through Jack’s veins, and she wants to fight- has to fight- has to do something. A murderer just kidnapped a child, and destroyed the main hope for the end to the war, and he is dead. There is no justice, here. He is dead, and his last words don’t make sense.

“What’s Hydra?” Jack asks, eventually, when her heartbeat slows down, and she can move her hands without feeling strange.

“Classified.” Caiti says, without hesitation. She looks apologetic, so Jack can’t be too angry at her. The super soldier just sighs, and hangs her head.

\---

How Jack managed to find herself here, she will never know. A painted helmet rests on her head, and her uniform is bright enough that it can be seen from space. There are two dozen women behind her, dancing to the same song that they’ve done for months. Jack finds herself humming along, whenever she doesn’t have to speak.

“Each bond you buy is a bullet in the barrel of your best guy's gun!” She announces, as the dancers are walking out on stage. She used to read this from her shield, but after over 200 shows, she knows it better than her own name. The dancers move out into the song, surrounding her, as they help her sell all the war bonds that they can print.

She zones out the rest of the song- she’s heard it enough that she can say her lines, without paying much attention. She only really pays attention when two screaming children warn her that the enemy is approaching. She waits, for the five seconds that she’s supposed to, so that ‘Hitler’ can approach. She swings around, like she’s been watching his every movement, and punches the air in front of his face. ‘Hitler’ goes down, instantly, to the sound of cheers.

In the crowd, an eight year old boy is reading one of the comics that Ryan was making fun of, only a month ago. Some shitty thing about a british superhero and an insecure green guy. 

It’s been a while, since Ryan sent her something about those guys. Hell, it’s been a month, since he sent her anything. Still, she isn’t too concerned. He warned her about this, anyway. There’s some top secret mission- infiltrating the enemy compound and conquering it. There isn’t hope for letters, and she doesn’t know how long the mission will last. 

Besides, Jack keeps busy. She has been in six movies in four weeks, and the General expects two more by the end of next week. Apparently, war bonds take a 5 percent spike in any city that she visits, and the General wants her to pick up that rate.

“Captain America” is really making a name for herself.

She only really notices that the song is over when one of the dancers, Kara, taps her shoulder and asks to be let down. This isn’t an uncommon request. Jack has a habit of zoning out, during the shows. 

The dancers stroll off, still bopping to pander to the audience, who are still hollering in excitement. Jack follows them, waving to the crowd, and giving a small bow as she exits the stage. All she really thinks about is the fact that her shoes are dusty.

She has two more shows today, alone. One is back in her old boot camp, and one is in Austin. The boot camp is far, so they’re going to have to rush her back to Austin. They might need to send her by jet, or the fastest moving car that they could find. This wasn’t going to be a fun trip, but they never are.

She likes being a symbol- she really does- because she’s helping people. She’s raising the prices of war bonds, she’s encouraging people to not be scared anymore, she’s causing more people to sign up for the draft. She’s a symbol of America, and she is good at what she does.

She just hates it, when she’s stuck in a small car, where her legs are squished against her torso, because there isn’t enough leg room. Maybe she should tell General Hullum to invest in a Captain America mobile. She could really use a custom car- simply because she doesn’t fit well a normal one.

When they reach the army base- by way of small car- Jack’s legs feel like death. Once, when she was eight, she sat on her legs for twelve hours straight, because she was bored and wanted to see what would happen. When she stood up again, she had trouble standing for hours. That, is how she feels, when the dancers are grabbing their helmets, and the makeup crew is prepping her for the show.

Someone places the cotton helmet on her head, and it feels like it’s about to fall off of her head. Her clothes feel too baggy, despite the fact that they’re skin tight. Her hands are shaking, but she pretends that they aren’t, and stuffs them into her pockets. The suit, luckily, has more than enough pockets- intended to carry bullets and guns, in the movies.

They shove her towards the crowd, and she performs the same song as always. For some reason, they hadn’t warned her to change the lyrics from selling war bonds to defending the country, but she’s not good at improvisation, so she doesn’t bother to. The soldiers don’t seem to appreciate it.

Nor do they seem to appreciate anything, once the show is over. Jack is a 200 pound woman- all muscle, but that is not what they look for in a girl. They look for scrawny, long haired beauties. The flappers of the ‘40’s.They don’t look for tall, short haired super soldiers, who are chosen to be the last hope for the allies, if the tides of war ever turn. They look for beauty, not brawn. Jack isn’t that.

“On behalf of the country, we would like to thank you for your service,” Jack says, reading off the shield, again. She feels self conscious for the first time in a while. She doesn’t know how to deal with this. She isn’t used to the jeering faces of the soldiers. “You are all true heroes.”

She recognizes the first heckler. The first man that Caiti struck, when he called her a “stupid Australian dame”. He doesn’t seem to have learned his lesson, because he is the first to pick up a tomato.

“Bring back the girls!” The recruit yells, as he launches the fruit.

Jack blocks it with her shield, and knows that she’ll get yelled at for not sidestepping the strike. Now, props is going to have to stay late to replace that thing. There was no way they’re going to give her a shield with a red tint. No, red is communist. Communism is bad. It needs to be clean, and blue and white, with only some red. Very little red.

Jack almost groans, when the rest of the crowd begins to take his cue. She has to dodge countless tomatoes, and some don’t give her the chance to. They stick to her shirt, and cling to the wings on her helmet.

When the dancers come back out, the soldiers renew their cheer, and Jack walks off the stage with a sigh.

\---

“Good show.” Caiti says, genuine, if a little awkward.

“Really?” Jack mutters. She’s using a dish towel to wipe off her shield, and she already knows that props is going to kill her for that. She could scratch the material! How dare she? “I’m pretty sure I still smell like tomato.” 

“The effort was there, though,” Caiti says, weakly- distractedly. “Don’t worry about it. These guys aren’t exactly your target audience.”

“I’m not worried,” and Jack sighs, because she’s lying. She was supposed to be a soldier. Not a sideshow freak for the real heroes to throw tomatoes at. “I just want to be in the field, already.”

Caiti looks up at that, at stares her directly in the eyes. Her gaze, steady and set, does not falter, at all. She grins, a small and confident smile. “Well, then, I’ve got good news, and bad news.”

“What is it? I get a show in the middle of an empty field?” Jack says, bitterly. She’s resigned herself to this life, already- even if she doesn't particularly enjoy it. She’s humanity’s last reserve, and they won’t send her in even if every man, woman, and child is already wielding a gun on the battlefield.

“No. It’s a little less boring. Have you heard about the missing troop?” Missing troop?

“No. What happened?” 

Ryan’s been gone a long time. Could that be? No. No- it can’t be.

“We sent a troop past enemy lines. We were hoping to intercept supplies, but something went wrong. We lost contact.” Caiti doesn’t sound as panicked as she should- probably deals with this every day. Jack, on the other hand, isn’t as calm.

Even in the middle of a firefight, Ryan would still have found a way to write to her. He would write it in the enemy’s blood, if he had to. There is no way that he wouldn’t check up on her every five minutes, even if he had a bullet in his arm! Something’s wrong, and it has taken Jack far too long to realize that.

“How long have they been gone?” And then, because she can’t stop herself, “Which troop?”

“Three weeks.” Caiti says, simply, as if there is nothing wrong with that. To a soldier, there probably isn’t. She doesn’t know Ryan, and she definitely wouldn’t care about some nameless soldier. There is no reason to rescue one troop, when there are a million others to protect. If it really is the 107th infantry, it’s probably the last of her priorities.

“They’ve been missing for three weeks, and no one’s done anything? They’re US soldiers, shouldn’t we have already sent everyone we have?” 

“Trust me, Jack, I agree with you! ‘No man left behind’ and all that, but we don’t have the men to spare.” She sounds genuinely apologetic. It isn’t enough. It could be Ryan out there. Nothing can be enough, until he’s back on U.S. soil.

“We have an army. Can’t they do something?”

“The army is fighting other battles. We can’t redirect troops from the front lines, or we’ll be swamped, and we can’t redirect reserve troops at this point..”

Why not? They could spare reserves! That is the whole point of it! They are supposed to come, when something remarkably atrocious occurs! The capture of an entire troop is pretty damn atrocious! Why is nobody doing anything?

The idea of reserve troops sparks an idea in Jack’s head, that she clings to- a remnant of hope. 

“Can you just confirm what troop it is?” Jack asks.

Ryan is out there. He’s infantry- running headfirst into any battle. She’s gotten a few scattered letters, here and there, but nothing for a while. She hadn’t realized.

Shit, she hadn’t even noticed!

She is so caught up by her own panic, that she doesn’t really think about the idea that he is fine. Just hiding out on a beach, waiting to fight German troops. All of the messengers are gone, and Ryan is just waiting for anything- a man, a plane, or even a pigeon- to get the letter to Jack. The thought comforts her, for a brief second, before it is stolen away by seven words.

“A small portion of the 107th infantry,” Caiti answers- rehearsed. Too formal. Jack pushes herself onto her feet, barely even looking at Caiti.

Ryan has been missing in action for three weeks.

Captain America has punched Hitler in the face over a hundred times. Today, Jack is going to be the one doing it.

\---

Jack isn’t surprised, when Hullum denies her request to rescue the 107th. He tells her to go back to singing and dancing- the big boys can handle the hostage situations.

But Jack is pretty sure that she is a big boy, now. She’s six inches taller than the tallest man in the army, and she’s three times as strong. She wasn’t made for show tunes and war bonds. That wasn’t what Heyman had planned for her- it wasn’t what Hullum had planned, either. She was made to fight alongside the heroes, and she’s sick and tired of standing on the sidelines, and begging civilians to fund the war.

Captain America is meant to fight, and she will.

Sorola, surprisingly, finds nothing wrong with this. When Caiti drags Jack to him, calling in a favor, Sorola just sighs and asks where they need to go. With a grin from Caiti, a relieved sigh from Jack, and an annoyed sigh from Sorola, they are loaded into a prototype plane, and heading for Germany, as fast as that tiny plane can fly.

It’s not a sturdy jet- held together by more duct tape than metal, but it flies. It shakes, every once in awhile, and sputters, like it is about to fall, but it flies. Sure, Jack feels her lunch trying to come up, every once in awhile, but it flies. That's good enough for Jack.

The plane, luckily, seems to run on autopilot, because when Sorola stands in the middle of the flight, and moves away from the controls, they don't die. The world doesn't go crashing down from under their feet, and Sorola doesn't let out so much of a curse. They should be safe for the time being.

"So, as the money bags of this trip, I deserve to know," Sorola says, to Jack just as much as to Caiti. "Why am I taking a bearded lady and a kangaroo to Germany?"

Jack runs a hand over her chin, and doesn't find any hair. Apparently, Sorola is full of shit. Jack is actually relieved by this revelation.

"There's people who need help," Jack says, calling on all of her morality to convince the most immoral man in the world that their cause was just. She doesn't expect it to work. "Is that not a good enough reason?"

"You're asking Gus?" Caiti asks, as if that is the stupidest thing that the Captain could have done. It is.

"No," unsurprisingly, he is completely apathetic. "It's gotta be personal. Troops go missing- it happens. There are countless POW bases across the world, and I haven’t seen you up in arms to take them down. Why are you suddenly giving a shit about this one?"

Trust a selfish man to understand selfish motives. Suddenly, Jack feels very, very guilty, because she should have cared before. If it had not been for Ryan, she would still be listening to showtunes, or filming for the pictures. She would not give half a damn about the hostages and the casualties. Sorola is right- it is personal, and that is the only reason that she cares.

“It’s none of your business, how about that?” She knows that she sounds defensive, but she doesn’t really care. She is too distracted by her own immorality to care about anything that he thinks.

She does, however, care about what Caiti thinks. The drill sergeant does not look happy. She looks like she is preparing the greatest lecture in all of history.

“Gus could lose his job, because of this, Jack,” Caiti warns, eyes shadowed. Her arms are crossed, and her jaw is set. She is stern- prepared to chew Jack out, within a second. “He deserves to know why.”

“Thank you, Caiti,” Sorola says- a little too thankful. It sounds fake. “So, spill the beans. Your boyfriend get kidnapped, or something? You’re on some revenge mission to rescue him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Jack mutters.

Caiti is the one to react, while Sorola shrugs it off. She raises her right eyebrow- pricked in interest. Her formerly crossed arms shift, placed at her sides. There is a small grin on her face, as if she is actually excited to hear that news. Jack doesn’t know why.

“Boyfriend, lover, ex, I don’t really care. But you are going to rescue one guy, right?” Sorola asks.

Jack nods. Yes, she is doing this for Ryan. Yes, she would probably let the entire base burn, just to rescue him. Yes, she is selfish. She already knows this- they all already know this- so why is Sorola still prying?

“So, if we get him, we can leave? Because I have a tight schedule, and I really don’t have time to rescue a base full of grunts. Hydra’s kind of good at the whole security thing. It’s going to be a bitch to bypass.” Sorola drolls, glaring at his watch. “Besides, I’m supposed to be studying that blue thing back at base. How about we just get in and get out, without taking on Hydra?”

“Hydra?” That was the guy that Heyman’s killer had sworn himself to. Hydra is important. If Ryan was captured by an organization that would drive a man to kill himself at the thought of capture, it might be even worse than it looks.

“Hydra. A bunch of bullshit Nazis, who think they’re better than regular Nazis. They’re led by some douche- Flynt Coal. Shittiest name I’ve ever heard. They’re a bunch of pricks, but they have some advanced weaponry,” Sorola hesitates. As an afterthought, he adds “Can you pick me up one of their guns? I want to run some more tests- see if we can’t harness their crap.”

“How bad are they?” Jack takes special care not to answer Sorola’s question.

“They’re the worst of the worst,” Caiti says, confirming Jack’s fears. “They think that Coal is some sort of god. They split from the Nazis and they’ve been fighting ever since.”

So, not only is Ryan a captive of the Nazis, but he is also a captive of a group of even crazier Nazis. Jack can almost trace the panic, as it floods through her system.

“What’s so great about Coal? Sounds like any normal Nazi.”

“We don’t know. We just know that their end game is world domination.”

“Big surprise,” Sorola comments, bitterly. “It seems like every dictator, nowadays, is just out for world domination. It used to be that conquering a village was a big deal, but no! Everyone’s going for the biggest slice of the pie, now.”

“Are they any plans to take him down?”

“There are plans.” Caiti sounds confident.

“None of them make any sense, but yeah, they exist.” Sorola snaps. 

“So, what’s the plan for this?” Jack gestures to the plane- to the three of them. Two soldiers, and a pilot, intending to take down an entire military base need a plan.

“I don’t know. You’re the Captain.” Caiti asks.

Jack looks down at the star that shines from her chest, like a beacon. It’s practically a target. She just hopes that Hydra can’t aim.

She has the beginnings of a plan working through her head, but she doesn’t have the training to culminate it into anything more. She doesn’t understand the grander intricacies of a battle. She doesn’t understand common tactics, or rarer tactics, or the differences between them. She does, however, understand one thing, and that is how to get up and fight, beyond all reason and without any cause.

“I think I have an idea.”

“This’ll be good.” Sorola states- eyes rolling. Jack doesn’t blame him.

\---

The world has erupted into the chaos of blue lasers and grey smoke. Fire licks at the ground, set off by nearby explosions and tank fire. The crowd is revolting, and prisoners slaughter captors, while captors just try to understand how to stop them.

The escapees breathing in an endless cloud of smoke.. They breathe through their shirts, but Jack doesn't have to. Apparently, with the new addition of muscle regeneration, she has the ability to suck in smoke without issue. She's not going to complain about it, and she's not a scientist, so she isn't going to question it. She’s just going to do her duty. That’s her job, after all. Act now, and question later.

A few prisoners- one being the smallest man in the infantry, and one, who almost looks homeless- climb into an enemy tank, and forcibly remove the Nazis from inside. It's one of the laser tanks (and that wasn't a thought that she ever expected to have), so it will probably take them a few minutes to learn to use it. Jack can be a distraction, if need be.

She doesn't need any guns- doesn't like them- so she is at an advantage to the Hydra gunmen. When they run out of ammo, they have already lost. Jack can't run out of ammo, when her only weapon is a shield and her fists.

She barely notices the Hydra soldier that is running towards her, but one of the prisoners is quick to warn her. She turns, on the heel of her foot, to meet the armed soldier. For some reason, he hasn’t fired his rifle, but that could change in an instant. Jack has to take him down, before he remembers his gun.

She ducks away, but doesn’t try to hide from him. She is an incredibly tall woman, wearing a red, white, and blue uniform, with a winged helmet. No matter how stupid Hydra is, there is no way that they will not notice her. This costume was made for a performer, and performers are meant to be seen. They are not meant to be in the middle of a firefight, with nothing, but their own fists, while soldiers attempt to hijack a tank from the most technologically advanced Nazis in history. Jack is an anomaly, in that respect. In most respects, actually.

The gunman notices her, but that only means that he isn’t blind. Hydra might be hiring workers, who are too stupid to use their guns, but at least they are hiring soldiers with eyes. At least, then, they know where to run to- even if they don’t know that they can shoot from afar.

The Nazi runs towards her, finally raising his gun to look at least slightly threatening. It’s a half assed attempt, because seconds later, he is tripping over his own shoelaces in his attempt to chase her. Idiots.

While he falls, Jack runs forward, ducking from the fire of a different soldier. She dives forward, between the first gunman's legs, and rolls forward onto her feet. On any other occasion, she would be pausing to celebrate a successful acrobatic move. Now, she just grabs a hold of his right arm, and pries the gun from his hands. She punches the soldier, directly on his ear, and she can hear his bones crack. He goes down like a rock, and she just hopes that that hit didn't kill him.

She hands the gun to an American, and he thanks her with a smile. Three teeth are missing, and she wonders if that is a new or old development. She doesn't get the chance to ask, because there is a second gunman to take down.

This time, it is easier. Apparently, even Nazis need to throw out trash, because there is a garbage can in front of the gate. By virtue of luck, there is still a lid, and it is still in perfect shape. Two shields. She can work with that.

She runs towards it, dodging fire from a more competent gunman. She's running left to right to left to right to left, all over again. She barely even notices that she's screaming "Serpentine!" as she goes, and that really destroys all subtlety in this mission.. In all honesty, she doesn’t mind, because stealth was never a priority in this mission. The plan was to initiate chaos- the greatest distraction of all. As far as Jack is concerned, the plan is working perfectly.

She reaches out, and grabs the gun in the Nazi’s hand. He pulls back, trying to wrench it from her grip, but Jack is stronger than any non-modified human. She rips the rifle from his hands, and without hesitation, jabs him in the stomach with the butt of the weapon. He doubles in on himself, clutching his newly injured torso, and all Jack has to do is push him to make him fall over. Apparently, a superhuman slamming a rifle into a man's stomach is painful. Jack only feels a little bit bad for him.

This time, she sets the rifle under a strap that runs across her back. She would hand it to an allied soldier, but they all look well armed, and Sorola did request access to the weaponry. She could spare a rifle for him, if it could help in the future. One gun isn’t that important.

The soldiers have finally managed to power the tank, and she watches the crowds of Hydra soldiers scramble, as the tank fires shell after shell. There is screaming, gunshots, and above all the sounds of explosions.

The distraction is working, and now Jack has time.

There are soldiers running past her, heading towards the epicenter of the battle. The prisoners are winning, and none of them want to miss their victory. They have been held by the Germans for who-knows-how-long, while the Nazis did who-knows-what to them. Jack can’t blame them for wanting to witness their revenge.

She does, however, grab one soldier by the arm, and pull him away from the crowd. He is short, and scrawny, and is holding a weapon that is way too big for him. His helmet, stolen from one of his captives, hangs off of his head, and probably isn’t going to offer much protection. Immediately, she is thankful that she pulled him away, because he would get ripped apart out there.

“Hey, what’s your name?” She asks, quickly. She isn’t going to start off with an interrogation, but she is on a timed schedule. She needs to get information out of this man fast.

“Uh, Gunerz. Private Kerbal Gunerz, sir,” it’s a strange name, but she doesn’t mind. She doesn’t have time to mind. “And, if you don’t mind me asking, who the fuck are you?” He gestures to her costume- red, white, and blue coupled with an added dose of patriotism. That is probably strange to an outsider.

“Captain America.” There is no hesitation- no question of what name to give. She was supposed to be a symbol back at home, and she can be a symbol here, too. Jack Pattillo can stay back in the States. Captain America is the hero, here.

“You’re the chick that rescued us?” The boy asks, a little too crude for her liking. Jack notices that six of his teeth are cracked beyond repair, and wonders how that happened.

“I am.” She confirms. He grins.

“Then I owe you, man. You need anything, come to Private Gunerz, 107th division, and the best idea guy this army’s got,” he is oddly smug, for a kid who barely looks like he graduated middle school. She doesn’t even have time to think about the fact that the supposed ‘best idea guy’ is still a Private. Somehow, she doubts that. “And of course, the best in bed.” He winks, and it looks like he is having a stroke.

“I actually want to cash in on that favor, now, if you don’t mind.” Jack says, intending to squirm away from the latter portion of his offers.

“Sure, what you need Cap? A rifle? Nah you got one. Grenade? Oh- maybe you need a plan. I got your back there, dude!” His eyes are alight, but Jack doesn’t mind crushing his spirits. He's weird enough that there isn't an issue.

“Have you ever met a man by the name of Ryan Haywood?” She says, bluntly. Gunerz slumps, a little, realizing that he is just an informant, and not the key to her success in this battle.

“Haywood? Yeah, he’s one of the snipers. Ain’t too bad. Smith says he can shoot a can from 500 feet, or something. Not the best, but not too bad. Not like some of the other snipes.” He makes a face of utter disgust, at the mention of the other snipers.

“Is he here?” Jack asks, suddenly more urgent than ever before. She has an informant- she has information. Someone knows something about Ryan. She can use that.

“Not here- here. He got dragged off by some scientists a couple weeks back. They say he stopped workin’. They drag him off to the labs, and we ain’t seen him since. You don’t see people come back from the labs. They’re there for life.”

“Where are the labs?” Jack presses, and Gunerz laughs at her urgency.

“What’s up, Cap? He your boyfriend, or some shit?” He says. She ignores him.

“Gunerz, where are the labs?”

He points towards a seven story building- a few hundred feet away. Jack quickly thanks him, and runs off, without another word. She doesn’t pay attention to what Gunerz does, after. There is no time. She has to find Ryan. Gunerz can handle himself, if he’s just a normal foot soldier. A sniper is not meant for up close and personal fights.

She runs faster than she has any right to. Faster than she ran to catch Heyman’s killer. Faster than she ever ran for basic- by far. Faster than she ran to start this fight, in the first place. Jack is here to save Ryan, and she will run as fast as she can to get him back.

She bursts into the building, and is instantly relieved that the fire hasn’t reached it, yet. It means that Ryan might still be alive- Gunerz might be wrong. He’s alive- he has to be, right? He’s saved Jack so many times, and it is finally time for her to return the favor to her best friend. She has to do this. She has to save him.

She doesn’t bother opening the door. She doesn’t even notice herself smash through it. The doorframe breaks, and she pushes through, and into the main building.

There is a German scientist, who jumps back as she smashes her way inside. With a blinding anger, she rushes towards him, and pushes him back against the wall.

“Where are your prisoners?” She asks. He flinches, and spits out terrified German, but she doesn’t really care. She repeats it in a German accent, because for some reason, she feels like that would make their communication easier. It seems to work, because the scientist points down the hallway, and Jack lets him go immediately. She can let the soldiers deal with him. For now, she just wants to rescue her friend. As far as she is concerned, she is a civilian. She has no responsibilities to the fight. She does, however, have responsibilities to her friend.

She passes countless people. Every single one of them is trapped down in a cell, or strapped to a table, or hanging from a wall. They look malnourished and exhausted, like they will pass out at any moment. The riots haven’t reached them yet, and Jack feels sick to her stomach to see the heroes like this. She could've been one of them.

No, they've been gone for a month. She would have been dead long before this stage.

Luckily, she’s spent enough years on the streets to know how to get through a simple key lock. Really, these guys need to step up their game.

She breaks through every single lock, and frees most of the prisoners from their bindings. Some of them are too far gone, and Jack can see that, but she doesn’t leave them. She still breaks through the locks and lets them crawl, or walk, or run. At least before their deaths- from deHydration, or blood loss from too many missing limbs- they could have the hope of freedom. They deserve that just as much as the rioters do.

She tells them to run and, with shaking and aching feet, they do. Even the ones that shouldn’t be running- they climb to their feet or crawl towards the exit. Some of the captives, newly acquired to this ward, help the older ones. They drag them away, and when they see the riots, they walk in the other direction.

One of them, a man who looks to be genuinely unharmed, is completely still, as Jack picks the locks to his cell. He just stares at her, with genuine light in his eyes that she hasn’t seen in other prisoners. He must not have been here for very long. He’s short, stumpy, and warm. When she helps him to his feet, he sends her a light grin. 

“You were in my troop for a while there, you know. I heard about what they did to you- the experiment shit. Cool as shit, dude! You’re the reserve guy, right? I knew they’d send you.” She catches sight of his dog tag- the name ‘Dooley’.

She doesn’t recognize it. She doesn’t know his face, either, but she’s not sure that she would recognize anyone, here. They look too exhausted, too overworked. It’s hard to recognize someone who has newly dead eyes and a newly thinned face. The bags under their eyes are worse than any she has ever seen state-side.

“How long have you been here, Dooley?” She asks, stunned.

“A day or two. Three weeks at the camo. Same as everyone else,” he glances through the steel bars of his window at the explosions just a hundred feet away. “Hey, sorry to cut this reunion short, but I, uh, I think I need to get going. I’d like to get out with my head on my shoulders, thanks.”

“Before you go, I have a quick question. Have you seen a Ryan Haywood anywhere here? I’ve been looking for him.”

“Him? Yeah, he’s by Ward C. Directions are on that wall,” he points to the far right corner of the room. “Be careful, though. He could be dangerous. The Nazis keep talking about him, and they’ve kept him in the labs longer than anyone. Could be good or bad. Just be careful, Cap, yeah?”

“Thanks.” She says, a little too coldly. The man recoils, at the sudden venom in her voice, but Jack doesn’t care to feel guilty about it. An implication that Ryan is a traitor, solely because he is still alive. Disgusting. She doesn’t even have time to feel the relief of his survival, because she is too busy dealing with her anger.

She doesn’t hurt him, doesn’t ever want to do that. She just shows him where the exit is and walks away. There is no special treatment, and no special retribution. He can leave, and Jack will probably never speak to him, again.

She follows his instructions and stares at the maps that are displayed on every corner. Ward C is up one flight of stairs, and down a long hallway. She sprints, and makes it there in less than a minute.

She smashes the door, again. Splintery pieces of metal spray throughout the room. A few cut through Jack’s uniform, but she doesn’t worry about it.  One of them could hit Ryan. She has no idea what sort of state he is in, but she doesn’t want to make it worse- no matter how bad he is.

This is the first time that she has seen him in months, and it is not the way that she wants their reunion to be. She wants to watch movies with him, and fight bullies, and defend the honor of those who aren’t there to defend themselves. She wants to watch him shoot a can from 500 feet away, and she wants to see his nerdy smile, when he does it. She can picture it from a thousand different experiences before. He once set off confetti, because he threw a piece of paper into the garbage from 10 feet away. It is probably a different kind of excitement, but knowing him, it’s probably the same stupid grin.

For the first time, she is cautious. Suddenly sheepish- knowing that he could be anywhere- she slowly walks through the ward, glancing at every bed for any sign of humanity. The Germans have obviously abandoned this place and hopefully they didn’t take Ryan with them.

By some streak of luck, she finds him. He is strapped down to a bed, completely immobile. There are IV lines lodged into so many veins that they must crisscross at some point, and Jack is almost afraid to remove them. The IV leads to a half-full bag of blue liquid that drips into Ryan’s skin. That isn’t good. A German serum doesn’t do good for anyone. Jack is a good representation of that.

In the end, she is careful, but he removes them The needles fall to the floor with a soft ping. Either from the pain or from the absence of the serum, Ryan’s eyes twitch open, slow and stuttering. He stares at Jack for a moment and she lets out the most relieved sigh of her life. 

Ryan is safe. Ryan is alive. Ryan is conscious. Ryan is fine. He’s fine. They are both going to be fine.

He waits a second to say something, staring blankly into her eyes, and seeming to find nothing, but it doesn’t matter. Ryan is fine. He has heavy bags under his eyes, he looks like he has lost too much weight, and he won’t stop shaking, but he’s fine. Absolutely fine.

She just looks different- that is why he’s confused. The last time he saw her, she was five foot, one inch, and now she is taller than he is. That has to be confusing.

“Who-” Ryan says, clueless for a second. Jack opens her mouth to speak, and before she can, understanding floods into Ryan’s eyes. “Jack?”

Ryan pulls on his bindings, uselessly, and Jack instantly goes to work in removing them. She undoes the one at his arms first, and then unstraps the bindings on his torso. He shoots up, like a jack-in-the-box, and instantly begins to tear off the straps around his legs. He pushes off of the bed and gets on his feet as quickly as he can. 

His breathing is forced and clearly unstable. He’s swaying, like that sudden lurch was enough to knock him out. His eyes are slightly glazed over and he is not looking at anything- hasn’t since he first saw Jack. He’s still shaking, just from the effort of holding himself up.

She is so distracted with helping Ryan, that she doesn’t notice the rumbling under her feet, or the sound of a very large vehicle approaching until it is far too late. She doesn’t notice until the tank fires a shell at the base of the building.

Who the hell is firing?

It is a loud, almost deafening sound that rings through Jack’s ears like static. The room shakes and Ryan, who was unable to balance in the first place, just falls to the ground. Jack catches his arm, and throws her own around his shoulders. She forces him to put his weight on her- it’s not too hard to carry, since she can pick up a grown man without breaking a sweat, let alone one who has to have lost at least 40 pounds- and she instantly starts to move.

“Sorry, I’m late. I kind of thought you were dead.” Jack mutters, pushing her way through the broken door, again. Ryan just laughs, once, and it’s not the same cheerful laugh that he usually has. This one sounds a little less excited and a little more dull. It’s not like Ryan’s nerdy movie theatre laugh, reserved for when the bad guy faces an ironic justice. It isn’t his low chuckle for when Jack tells a stupid joke that no one should ever have to hear.

Jack doesn’t like it nearly as much.

“I thought you were smaller. Turns out we were both wrong.” He’s smiling, but just like his laugh, it isn’t the same.

“How’s the military serving you?” Jack asks, just because she’s an asshole.

“I mean, I’m not going to lie, it’s got pretty nice beds,” he says, because he’s an asshole, too. “And how’s it for you, Cap?”

“I mean, I’ve punched Hitler over 200 times, so I can’t complain,” she says. Ryan nods as if that is a completely normal response for two completely normal people. Jack doesn’t know if he agreed just to agree, or if it is simply due to the fact that his lids are beginning to fall over his glazed eyes. “Hey, Ry. Stay with me.”

“I gotcha, Jack,” he sounds half asleep, but a little more enthusiastic. “I’m only dying. Don’t worry. It’s no biggie.” He’s exaggerating, and Jack knows that. That is the only reason that she doesn’t drop him, right  then, to make sure that, no, he’s not dying and yes, he’s fine. Sarcastic prick.

“So,” Jack says, just to keep the conversation going. Just to keep him awake. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but sleeping is probably not going to do him well. “I heard you’re good at sniping.”

“Nah. I’ve heard you’re good at singing, though.”

“I’m not-”

Ryan breaks off into a high pitched rendition of “Star Spangled Hero With a Plan”, and Jack has to hold herself back from laughing at the off-key cover.

They reach the staircase, but there is no way that they could make it down. Apparently, the shell hadn’t been far away at all. Maybe Hydra is trying to bury its projects, or maybe there was an accidental shot. Accidental or not, it worked out for the Nazis.

The evidence of this isn't going to be buried, though. Jack is going to rescue Ryan. There's no doubt in her mind about that.

The entire first floor is on fire- more so than any tank could cause. The flames are completely encasing the level. There is no way to get through there. If they tried, they would be burned alive. Maybe Jack, with her enhanced body, would be able to survive, but Ryan would be a goner in a second.

“There might be other ways out?” Ryan says, as if he is reading Jack’s mind.

“Depends on what other ways you mean.” It isn't Jack that says it. Rather, the voice is a heavy German that bleeds contempt.

Jack turns, dragging Ryan with her. The sergeant struggles out from under Jack’s arm, and pushes himself to stand on two feet. He reaches out and grabs the rifle off of Jack’s back. Still wobbly on his feet and still sporting half-lidded eyes, he hefts his gun, and aims it at the German’s head.

The man- men- standing before them are obviously Nazi. Their uniforms- adorned with countless swastikas and octopuses- distinguish them easily. One has blonde hair and blue eyes. The shiny representative of Germany, but even Jack can tell that he is not the leader, just by the way he stands. He is slouched, submissive to the taller man, who is standing with a smirk plastered onto his face.

“Who the hell is this?” Ryan asks, venom in his voice. The smaller man’s eyes flashes towards him and his grin only grows wider. Ryan shrinks back, a little, but Jack pays him no mind. She can’t blame him for wanting to fuck away, right now.

“I think you must have heard of me. It’s hard not to.” The larger responds with a grin that disfigures his face.

So this is the Flynt Coal that Sorola mentioned. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark skin that is stretched a little too thin. Tall and strong, but with a uniform that hides the muscles from plain view. Yellow teeth with barely-there lips. Hair with enough spray to halt the oceans.

The other man, who stands behind Coal, must be his second in command. Short, fat, nerdy. Glasses perched on a crooked nose. Balding grey hair, and dull blue eyes. Pale skin that hasn’t seen the sun in ages. There is no doubt which one is the leader, here.

It doesn’t make sense. Why would Hydra, who worship Coal like a weird and majorly psychotic god, fire at the building that he’s positioned in? Why is he even there, and not thousands of feet away? Why would he stay?

Maybe the Americans did it? No, he would have fled, then. None of this makes any sense.

“You’re that asshole guy.” Jack says, eventually. Ryan’s grip tightens on the gun.

“I prefer to call myself the God of this world, but if you prefer that, then I don’t really mind,” Coal barely seems to acknowledge Ryan’s presence. There are occasional glances, but mostly, his eyes are locked onto Jack. It makes her uncomfortable. “You’re Captain America, yes?”

“Exciting, right?”

“I am a great fan of your films,” Coal is grinning, and his teeth are slightly too straight. “Especially, when you hit the Fuhrer. Those are my favorite parts.”

“You know, I can’t say I’m a fan of anything you’ve done.” In the corner of her eye, she catches Ryan giving a weak smirk. It does nothing to rival that of the second in command. It doesn't even rival Ryan’s normal smirk.

“Jack, if your fans are Nazis, I think you need to find a new career path. Maybe try accounting?” Ryan says. Coal finally turns his attention to him, scowling, while the second just shakes his head, refusing to say a word.

“We are not Nazis. Nazis are fools worshipping the Fuhrer, like he is a god, when the true gods stand before them. The Captain and I are gods. You could be, with the proper resources. Hitler is not.” He glares back at Jack, and runs a hand through his own brittle hair. It barely moves. “Doctor Heyman did well with you, I see.”

“Heyman worked with you?” That was news to Jack. She’d only known that Heyman was German- not that he was a Nazi. Wait, Jack let a Nazi take absolute control of her bodily anatomy? Goddammit, this whole thing is looking more and more like a mistake.

“Yes, of course. There was but a single flaw.” He scowls, clenching his fists, awkwardly. Skin pulls over his knuckles, like paper. It isn’t a good look.

“And what’s that?”

A hand moves to his face- to the bland, uninteresting features- and grabs hold of his ears, on both sides. He tugs them forward, and they peel away like a plastic covering. He pulls, roughly, and removes the skin from around his eyes, tearing away his nose and lips entirely. There is no blood- he is just piles of muscle and veins. He drops the mask, letting it rest on the floor. He steps on it and doesn’t bother to spare it another glance.

“Huh,” Ryan says, with his face scrunched in disgust. “Here I thought the Nazi thing was the big flaw.”

“Again, I am no Nazi. I have left those simple things behind. Captain, you should join me,” Coal says. Jack just blinks at the sudden proposition. “You still pretend to be a soldier, but you could be so much more. Your films were extraordinary. Maybe it is time to make them reality.”

Ryan glances down at his gun, then back up at Coal. He doesn’t hesitate a second more, before he pulls down on the trigger.

Coal simply sidesteps the attack, before Ryan can even fire. He lets out a low sigh and prods at his second’s back. Ryan is still recovering from the recoil, when they start to leave.

Coal and his second are running past a bridge by the time that Ryan is ready to shoot, again. The second is lagging behind- his bulbous body too much weight to pull. Jack chases them, leaving Ryan in the dust. He tries to reach for the second, but Coal is faster. He shoves his greasy man forward, and presses his hand on a button, on the other side of the bridge. It retracts, and the second barely manages to make it over as the platform moves back into the wall.

“What are you doing? We need a super soldier!” The second exclaims, but Coal already has a hand on his dirty lab coat. The larger man drags them towards the elevator, leaving Jack and the swaying Ryan trapped in the fire.

Jack has to hold out her hand to stop the sniper from running into the pit, where the bridge used to be. He is panting, obviously having overexerted himself from that run alone. Ryan doesn’t even bother look back at her, before he is firing at the two Hydra leaders. He misses six shots, before they get away.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a sniper?” Jack says, without any malice.

“Look, I’m having a bad day. Or week. Or month. Whichever. I’ve been strapped to a table for a while. My fine mortal skills aren’t so great, right now.” He says, through a series of gasps for breath.

“No excuses.” She’s joking and Ryan knows it, but the shorter man still flinches. It is out of courtesy and slight awkwardness that Jack doesn’t ask why.

“So do we have any plan to get out of here, or are we just going to watch the world burn?” Ryan says, glaring down at the fire that is slowly creeping from the pit.

“I think I have an idea.” 

The window, only a few feet away from them, is wide open. The only problem is that the floor seems to have given way, during the explosion. There is a significant hole between them and that window, and that seems to be the only way out.

She takes one look at Ryan and one look at the ten foot gap, and instantly knows that Ryan has no chance of making it. He is still pale, still moving sluggishly. Whatever Hydra has been doing to him isn’t doing well for him. If he tries to make the jump, he might make it three inches, before plummeting into the flame.

Without any warning, she grabs hold of Ryan, by the chest, and hauls him over her head. He weighs nothing, like a feather with the stem removed. He freezes, tensing in Jack’s grip, before he starts to squirm.

“Jack, what the hell are you-” His voice breaks off, as he begins to comprehend exactly what she is about to do. Then, he starts thrashing. “Jack, I do not consent! We are not going to do this! If you even try, I’m disowning you!”

“Stop moving, or you’re not going to make it.” Jack mutters, still calculating exactly how hard she’ll have to throw him. She only has one chance and then she’ll have to jump across, on her own. Really, Ryan is the lucky one here.

“Jack!” Ryan yells, as Jack tosses him like a sack of flour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may not have been any logical point to Private Kerbal Gunerz, but he is fun, so he stays. Hopefully you guys like him.  
> Fun Fact #2, Gunerz was originally called Grob, because of a stupid joke and a limited understanding of German. I think it worked out better, this way.)


	3. Lives of the C-Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you wondering why the update was taking so long to come- check the word count. It used to be 17,000...  
> Fun Fact: This was supposed to be the longest chapter. It is not. By far. Help me.

“Look, I said I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it when you throw someone off of a mountain!”

“It wasn’t a mountain. It was a platform. Wasn’t even 15 feet.”

“What does that matter? You still threw me!”

Jack rolls her eyes, hiding her smile from the sniper. Ryan has been showcasing his disdain, since she’d rescued him from the Hydra headquarters, three weeks back. This is only the 23rd time they’ve had this argument, and the rest of the team can’t get enough of it.

Even now, Gunerz and Dooley are chanting “Fight, fight, fight!”, while Bragg and Shadles just roll their eyes at their antics, and sip at their beers. None of them seem to notice that they’ve downed seven shots in five minutes, but had they noticed, they wouldn’t care. They’re not lightweights- they can’t be, when half of their time is spent in the battlefield, and the other half in bars.

They haven’t been in the field for a long time, though. The past few weeks have been spent recovering from the 107th rescue. They’ve put on weight, slept the bags out from under their eyes, and regained any lost shooting skills. They’ve also been slowly torturing their livers, but that’s a different story.

Ryan and Jack haven’t touched a drop, but Jack isn’t affected and Ryan hates the taste. Nothing unexpected there.

“That was the only way out!” Jack argues. Gunerz spills his bottle and immediately waves to the bartender for another. He doesn’t bother wiping the booze off of his uniform.

“And I keep telling you that there was an exit behind us!”

“Well, I didn’t know that, then, did I?”

“You could have asked!”

Caiti is also there, but she is a few tables away and barely sipping at her drink. She’s reading a newspaper about Captain America’s rescue, but never once looks up to see the actual Captain America sitting ten feet away from her. She knows that they’re there, but she hasn’t said a word to them in weeks. It’s infuriating, and Jack just wants her to walk over and talk to them.

Because, no matter what the papers say, Caiti was a significant part of the rescue, too. Even if the reporters never mention her name, she was the only reason that the mission started- let alone succeeded. Without her, Ryan and the rest of the infantry would still be prisoners to a bunch of pseudo-Nazis. For that rescue she was so much more important than Jack.

“That’s your first mistake, Haywood,” Dooley says, with mock sympathy. He’s grinning and shaking his beer without any control. Some of it splashes into Dooley’s face, but none of the drunken figures seem to notice. “Never look to the Cap for logic!”

“So, I’m learning.” Ryan responds, as if he didn’t know that already. If Jack had any logic, then she would not have tried 14 times to join the military and she would not have been Captain America. Jack has never had logic. It’s almost frustrating that it always works out for her.

“Look, you’re here- you’re alive! What’s the big deal?” Jack exclaims, just to get Ryan riled up. It works.

“Jack, heights? Not my thing! So how about we don’t go throwing me off of mountains!”

“It wasn’t a mountain!”

“Goddammit, Jack, no one cares about your platform! Use some drama, for once!”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know! I’m not the one who threw someone off of a mountain!”

Dooley raises his glass- his completely empty glass- and gestures for the others to do the same. When they do, beer begins to roll down their arms as they ram their glasses against the others. Gunerz catches his own streams with his tongue. Shadles, on the other hand, wipes his arm with his own shirt.

“To the Cap and Haywood’s neverending idiotness!” Dooley announces. His eyes are glazed over, but his slurred voice carries, nonetheless.

“Here, here!” Bragg responds. He’s slightly more put together than Dooley, but he is going to have a severe hangover, in the morning. Jack almost- almost pities him.

Shadles, the French Marine, just nods and downs the rest of his glass. He signals- waving out a hand to get the bartender's attention. The barman sighs, and takes his cup. Within seconds, there is a new one in Shadles’ hand and a satisfied grunt of appreciation. Gunerz still hasn’t gotten his own refill and he sputters when the bartender leaves.

“I’m pretty sure ‘idiotness’ isn’t a word.” Ryan comments, before Gunerz can complain.

“I’m pretty sure a ‘salad chalice’ isn’t a real thing either, Haywood. You didn’t seem to have a problem with that.” Dooley grabs the glass that Shadles is drinking. He downs it, within a second, and is instantly oblivious to Shadles’ glaring.

“I never said that.” Ryan mutters. Jack picks up on his annoyance and instantly decides to play on it.

“Really? ‘Cause I do seem to remember that incident.”

“You weren’t even there!” Ryan says, before he has time to think about it.

“So, it did happen.” Jack says, and the sniper freezes, caught in a web of his own making. With no response left, he just shakes his head and glares at the floor.

“It’s not that big a deal.” Ryan mutters, eventually.

Shadles splashes his third refill into Dooley’s face. Gunerz is caught in the attack, but he doesn’t mind, since that just means that there is more beer to lick off of his arm.

“Neither is the platform.” Jack teases.

“No, that was a big deal. Throwing me off of a mountain is a very big deal.”

And so it goes.

\---

Their lives aren’t just spent in bars and barracks. Sure, that is where they spend most of their time, but not all of it. Sometimes, the General will call on the ‘C Team’ and sometimes Caiti will hand them files. She’ll tell Jack to be careful not to get them all killed, and Jack will laugh and ask how that could ever happen. They’ll ship out, by plane, or by boat, by Jeep, or on foot, and the four drunks will drink themselves into oblivion, while Jack and Ryan argue. Then, they’ll spend the rest of the day fighting Nazis.

This time, they’ve run out of beer, and the drunks are asleep. It’s a two hour flight from Germany to Italy, but somehow they’ve finished off a carton of beer, and Shadles isn’t even buzzed.

Ryan keeps taking apart his gun, before wiping off the individual parts, just to put it back together. He’s timing himself- counts aloud to do it- and has a record of 20 seconds. He claims that he hasn’t hit that since basic, and has been trying to achieve it ever since. Jack just thinks that it’s a nervous habit.

Jack isn’t very different, in a way. She cleans her shield- a gift from Sorola and the scientific branch at S.W.O.R.D., and made of pure vibranium- every single time she has to prepare for a mission. Sorola doesn’t appreciate it- says that she’s just damaging the paint job- but Jack doesn’t really care. If she damages the red, white, and blue target that is her shield, then it’s really not much of a tragedy.

“So, what’s the plan, this time?” Ryan comments, after a long period of silence. “I say we throw Gunerz at them, and make Shadles recover his body.”

“Or, we can follow the normal course of the mission and not be blatant psychopaths?” Jack offers.

“You’re no fun,” Ryan scoffs. “So, what’s the actual plan?”

“We go in, hit some Nazis, blow up the base, and get out.”

“There’s never any fanfare, is there? It’s always just ‘blow this place up and ride out, on an eagle.’ How about we change it up for once?” He’s still disassembling and reassembling his pistol, but at least now, he’s stopped cleaning it. He does it in thirty seconds, every time.

“And what do you want us to do differently?” Jack says, just to humor him.

“Flares.” Ryan says, bluntly.

“No.”

“Wait! Hear me out, on this one.”

“No.”

“If we shoot someone with a flare, they’ll light on fire. It’ll draw the others to them, and we’ll light them on fire! Boom, problem solved and Hydra is eliminated!” He claps his hands, grinning like a madman.

“Thank god, you’re not the tactics guy.”

“I’d make a great tactics guy,” Ryan defended, clutching his hand to his chest in mock-offense. “How dare you insult my amazing tacticianal skill!”

“That’s not a word.”

“And a tactics guy isn’t a position. It’s called a tactician, Jack.”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, that’s cute. You actually think I care,” Jack gives him a slight prod into the arm, and he immediately recoils. He winces, and grabs hold of the injured arm, like the light-hearted blow actually hurt him. “Ow!”

“You alright, Ry?” Jack asks.

“I’m fine. No big deal.” He says, letting go of his arm, and letting it fall to his side. He’s still wincing a little, but he doesn’t mention it, again. Jack’s not planning to force him to.

Ryan doesn’t speak, again, and Jack lets the conversation die.

\---

Bullets ricochet off of Jack’s shield and she barely has time to lement in the fact that she’ll have to repaint it. The rest of the C Team, minus Ryan, is taking up position behind her, shooting at every angle that she can’t cover. Ryan is up in a tree, somewhere, firing at anyone that they can’t see. It’s a good system and it works. That’s enough for Jack.

One of the Hydra soldiers gets too close for Jack’s liking and she doesn’t give them time to get closer. Within a second, she has unstrapped her shield and sent it flying towards the soldier’s chest. It hits and the razor sharp sides slice through his body armor, easily. He’s down, but not dead and the shield boomerangs right back into her hand.

She really loves this shield.

Shadles shoots the downed man and Jack knows that someone will have to give him a lecture about that, later. He doesn’t have to kill everyone that he comes across- even if they are Nazis. If someone is injured, they don’t have to make it worse. They already play the judge and the jury. They may as well not play the executioner, too.

“Hey,” Gunerz yells, when he notices Shadles’ attack. “Don’t you steal my kill!”

Alright, maybe the philosophic shit doesn’t belong in this team.

There is a motorcycle, not too far off. Jack can hears its engines revving, can hear it approaching a little too quickly. She holds up a hand, raising two fingers, as a signal to stop moving. The group does, and even Ryan, up in his tree perch, freezes.

Within seconds, there is a motorcycle heading straight towards them. There are two men seated on it- one being the driver and the other being the man on the back wielding a flamethrower. 

Why do the bad guys always get the cool stuff?

Jack glances up at Ryan and watches him take the shot. He can shoot a can from 500 feet- 550, now, but it doesn’t matter. She trusts him- he can make it, and they can scramble out of the way of the bike in time. She glances back at the motorcycle and there is a bullet embedded into the ground.

Dooley lets out a screech as Shadles begins to fire. Gunerz screams, more of a high pitched battle cry than Dooley’s terrified wail, and follows Shadles’ lead. Bragg just ducks for cover.

Sometimes Jack wonders how this was the best team that she managed to gather.

She unstraps her shield, again and before the bike can hit her, she drops it. She doesn’t throw it- doesn’t bother to hit the driver or the soldier. If she does that, then they will just drive straight into them. It’s too close now- barely twenty feet away. They would be dead within a second. This way, the bike just hits vibranium, and flips.

The motorcycle does half of a front flip, and lands directly on the back. The driver may have jumped off, before the bike hit the shield, but the soldier stayed and his flamethrower came with him. The pressure sparks the canisters on his back, igniting into one giant explosion. 

Jack leaps back, but the fire never reaches her. The soldier and the bike catch the brunt of the explosion. The explosion sends the bike flinging through the air, like a tennis ball, crashing against one of the trees, and falling back into a snow pile, absolutely totalled. The handlebar lies six feet away from the rest of the bike, and the tires are dented and popped.

The soldier, on the other hand, stays where he is, screaming and clawing at burned skin. He crawls forward, dragging himself by his arms, and rolling over the dirt that only makes it worse. He grabs hold of Gunerz’s boot, reaching up for his gun.

Something fires, and the man stops screaming.

Blood splatters onto Gunerz’s legs, and the boy screams and kicks him away. He isn’t used to being this close to the fighting. He’s used to gunfire, behind the safety of ranged weaponry. He isn’t used to blood on his hands. He isn’t used to watching men die at his feet.

Somewhere, up in a tree, a sniper reloads. Down here, Gunerz just panics.

Gunerz stares down at the disfigured body, and kicks it away. He reaches down for his leg, reaching to claw off the boot and the blood that the Nazi left behind. Shadles stops him, with a hand on his shoulder, and shakes his head. 

The message is clear. They can talk about it, later. Right now, they need to do their jobs.

The driver is running, and that is the only reason that Jack takes Shadles’ lead.The driver can lead them somewhere- somewhere important. Be it a Hydra base, or just a German refueling station- it can be helpful. Jack follows, and the others come with her. Even Ryan, with a steady jaw and an unusual silence, climbs down from the tree and gives chase.

\---

It’s barely a workout for Jack, with her over-powered legs. For the others, with normal human abilities, it is overbearing. Bragg is the farthest behind them and panting more than an overheated dog. Shadles is the closest to Jack, but even he looks like he’s ready to collapse. It has barely been 15 minutes, but they’re already tired of this run. Even on tours they don't have to commit to a full sprint. This is awful.

The driver is sick of it, too. They can all see it- the sweat dripping down his face, the slowed pace, the heavy footsteps, the arms that hang uselessly at his sides. He’s wearing down, but so is most of the C Team. Hopefully, the base is close, or none of them- not even the driver- will make it.

After another five minutes, the driver slows into a walk. He hasn’t heard a sound in twenty minutes and has no reasons to run, anymore. He must assume that the Allies are still over twenty minutes away from him. He's getting comfortable. Idiot.

They keep walking, keeping the driver as far away from them as they can, while still in their line of sight. It’s difficult to do, with an endless supply of trees to block their view, but they manage. There’s six of them. They're fine.

Normally, on missions like this, Gunerz would approach Shadles to talk (though, it is a very one sided conversation). Normally, Bragg and Dooley would group together, to discuss anything from bread to the science of potions. 90 percent of the time, Dooley would end up tackling Bragg into the ground, and no one would understand how the conversation got from Point A to Point B. Normally, Ryan would walk past the rest of the group, and straight towards Jack to talk about whatever came to mind.

This time, Gunerz approaches Shadles, and starts to talk. Bragg ends up face first in the ground, and Dooley has to quiet his laughter, so that the driver won’t hear. The only oddity is that Ryan stays behind the group, holding his pistol with his left hand, and letting the right rest in his pocket.

If they weren’t in the middle of a hunt, Jack would stop. She would let the others pass her, and they would probably be confused, but they wouldn’t question her. She is their captain, after all. She would wait until Ryan was by her side, and then she would interrogate him to find out what’s wrong.  Why did he miss that shot? Why did he not miss the second one? Why is he acting so aloof?

Instead, with an enemy so close, Jack just grins reassuringly, and Ryan looks away. 

She suspects that they will emerge from the forest, soon. After all, it can't just go on forever. They've been moving for so long that the end has to be somewhere. There has to be a point where the trees begin to thin, and a road is there to lead them to some sort of civilization. Some sort of Hydra base, maybe.

The trees never thin, and they just keep walking. Even as Gunerz complains about sore feet, and Bragg complains about the endless supply of mosquitos, they keep going. The sun goes down, and the moon goes up, and they are still just walking.

It’s the middle of the night, when the moon is high in the sky, and they are just walking and praying that they won’t walk into a tree, somewhere along the line. It’s dark enough that it’s easy to. Dooley does, thirteen times. For Ryan it's four. For Gunerz, it's uncountable.

The driver has a flashlight, and that is the only light source that any of them have. So, while the driver can walk freely, the Allies are pushed into a much slower speed. They barely manage to keep up with the man, even if he is the only light in the forest. While he walks, they stumble. While he stares up at the trees, they walk into them.

If they were facing a different enemy, Jack would have tackled him to the ground, by now. She would have handed him off to General Hullum, so that he could trade with him for information. She would have had him in her grasps, immediately after his bike ran into her shield. They wouldn’t still be walking- with heavy feet, and heavier equipment.

Even for Jack, it’s a trek. They have been walking for hours, and there is no sign of stopping. Her shield is pulling at her back- almost too much weight to carry. Every little weight is a mountain on her shoulders, from her uniform to her dog tags. She can’t imagine how it must be for the others. They’re still normal. They're still human. This must be terrible for them.

None of them are cracking jokes and none of them are laughing. When Dooley walks into yet another tree, there are no snickers. When Shadles finishes the last of the water, there are only a few grumbled complaints. When Ryan trips over a branch, there is no mocking, as he stifles his own yell. Jack doesn’t know if it was of surprise or pain. She doesn’t have time to move back to him- doesn’t have time to ask. Ryan gets up, so Jack keeps walking.

None of them look back. It’s too dark to see anything in the light of the half moon. There is nothing, but darkness behind them.

The trees never thin. Even when they can see lights from some hidden safe house, the trees never thin. There is never a road that they stumble onto- never a sign of life. There is no smoke to distinguish human territory from nature.

Eventually, when they watch the driver stumble towards the large base in the middle of the forest, the trees stay thick. They are as prominent as ever. Then, there is a metal building, and then there are trees. The forest doesn’t thin, so much as it disappears, for one small spot, before it resurges in the next.

Jack gestures forward, and luckily, the rest of the group can see her. From this point on, even exhausted as they are, they know what to do and how to do it. Ryan slowly climbs one of the trees, heavily favoring his right hand as he moves. Dooley and Bragg circle the building, drawing their guns, like it’s second nature to them. Jack presses towards the building, and Gunerz and Shadles follow.

There is a click as the door opens, and the driver stumbles into the building. He lets go of it, and the door slowly begins to swing to a shut. Before it can, Shadles is there, grabbing hold of the metal frame, and holding it open for the other two. Jack runs forward, and Gunerz is quick to follow.

The inside of the building is sparse- obviously intended to be a safe house, rather than a major outpost. There are no Hydra banners hanging on the walls to indicate that this building is a military base of any sort. There are no framed photographs of Coal, with his plastic mask shielding his red face. There are, however, framed photographs of Lester- the short and nerdy Second in Command. Jack doesn’t really know which is worse.

There follow the driver, who is still naively unaware of their stalking. He leads them past rooms filled with guns, with scientists who toy with them. He leads them past rooms, where the guns blow up in the scientists’ faces. He leads them through hallways, where the Hydra banners finally hang, but the frames are still filled with Lester.

Each room is filled with an eerie blue glow, that makes Jack’s patriotic uniform look like something normal. She doesn’t know what it’s from, but the color is too bright to be something natural. Jack doesn’t like it, and she definitely doesn’t trust the strange light.

She follows the driver to the end of the building- to a small office that is barely even livable. A desk is shoved against the wall, next to a window. A map is sprawled across the desk, marked in several different places. A radio rests on the floor, without enough room to be on the desk. There’s barely even room for a chair in here.

Yet, she knows who controls this room. The six paintings, hung in such a small space is proof enough. She can tell by the symbols on the map, detailing information that she cannot even translate into English. She can tell by the lab coat, hung on the back of the door. This is Lester’s office. Perfect.

For the first time, the driver turns, obviously disappointed by the fact that Lester is nowhere to be found. His eyes are downcast, and he looks exhausted, but he isn’t blind. He looks up and sees Uncle Sam, and instantly knows that his escape plan was not at all sound.

Before he could do anything- call for help, or fight back, or even move- Jack punches him. She socks him across the ear, and the exhausted man goes down, like a sack of potatoes. His head smashes against the desk, and Jack winces at the loud sound that it makes. He’ll have a concussion from that, at the least.

Shadles, without hesitation, rushes inside the office and rolls the map into a small, manageable sheet of paper. He slips it through a belt buckle, and nods, once at Jack. Then, he pushes himself onto the desk, and walks towards the window. He cracks it open and pushes it upwards. It gives, with a little hesitance, but Shadles pushes through it. The second he has it open, he crawls through it, and jumps off of the windowsill.

"Cap?" Gunerz whispers, a little in awed at the efficiency of that heist.

"Let's go."

Gunerz lets out a sigh and starts to climb.

\---

The General is thrilled. He spends the extent of their meeting spitting praises and promises of medals, if they manage to catch the Nazi. He's a little too excited, and he keeps sharing glances with Sorola. Jack leaves with an order to take Lester down, and she is not planning to disappoint.

It takes all of five minutes to set up a meeting with the rest of her squadron, but even that feels like too much. Jack wants to get moving, as quickly as she can, and she speeds through the plan because of it.

“He’s gonna be right here,” Jack points to a small section of the map, that is surrounded by mountains. It won’t be an easy thing to get onto a moving train. There will need to be more planning than this, but it will do for now. She has to rush through, if she wants to get there in time. “We’ll have to move fast, if we want to get him. I’ll go in with Ryan and Gunerz. Shadles, you can meet us here,” Jack points to another section, a train stop a few miles away. “If all goes well, we’ll have Lester in cuffs, before he knows what hit him."

It's only been a day, since their heist, and most of them are still exhausted. Even Jack is tired, feeling ready to collapse at any moment. Almost all of them have eyes that droop a little too heavily and feet that seem to cling to the floor as they walk. The only one of them who isn't feeling the strain is Shadles, who never seems to feel anything, anyway.

Dooley is half asleep, when he asks what he and Bragg will be doing, during the mission. Caiti suggests that they go with Shadles to keep out of trouble, and Jack agrees wholeheartedly. There will be enough people in the train. Anymore, and they’ll be tripping over each other.

Jack glances down at the map, and watches as the German words mix and blur. They move from a language, that could possibly be considered legitimate, to a splattering of smudged ink on paper. There is nothing on that map, but ink, and Jack wants to rest her head on it, just for a second. Her eyes are heavy and a yawn is forcing its way through her throat. It's too warm in this room, she notices.

When Caiti announces that the meeting is over, and they move out in two hours, Bragg thanks god, and falls asleep in his chair. The rest of them join him.

\---

They sleep through the car ride.

\---

They sleep through the wait.

\---

Later, Jack would wish they’d slept longer.

\---

Jack wakes up to a hand wrapped around her shoulder. It’s only shaking lightly- not nearly enough to alarm her- barely even enough to wake her. Jack glances around, catching Caiti’s eyes, along the way. Apparently, while they had all been asleep, she stayed awake to keep an eye on the train. Jack appreciates that.

The ground is rumbling, underfoot. A small, almost unnoticeable current, that shakes the leaves on the trees, and knocks the snow off of the mountains. It isn’t nearly enough to wake them, but by the way that it is getting stronger, it would have soon enough.

“Mornin’, Caiti.” Jack says, as she groggily pushes herself onto her feet. Maybe sleeping this late wasn’t a good idea in this case. Rest, while increasing reflexes in the long term, doesn’t do well in the short term.

“Morning, Jack,” she responds, with a light grin. She nods her head towards the others, who are all still lying with their heads in the snow. In hindsight, they probably should have used their bags as pillows, or stayed in the car. They don’t make the best decisions, immediately after they wake. Or ever. That will probably come back to bite them. “What do you say, we get to waking up the rest of your pack?”

“I’ll take Ryan, Gunerz, and Shadles. You can take the other two.” In the subtlest way, volunteering to take those three is protecting Caiti. She knows that, but she also knows when to pick her fights. She can argue about her capabilities in a moment when it  actually matters. In the meantime, she doesn’t need to get into a fight with four tired soldiers.

Gunerz has both of his arms wrapped around Shadles’ chest and Jack laughs at the sight. To see the most eccentric of them, clinging to the chest of the most battleworn, is far more than funny.

Jack reaches forward, and gently shakes Shadles’ arm. He is the least likely to respond violently and might be able to help Jack deal with Gunerz. While it isn’t difficult to hold back 110 pounds of a terrified 19 year old, it is slightly harder to calm him down. That might be easier with two people, rather than just one.

Shadles’ eyes open, instantly, and despite being his crewmate for weeks, Jack still expects his wakeup to be violent. He seems like the type of person to shove himself forward and shove Jack as far as he can away. He seems like he would rip himself free of Gunerz’s hold, sparking the younger man’s own terrified wake up call.

Instead, Shadles just lies there, eyes cast towards the sky. His gun is hanging by his hip, but he never makes an attempt to reach for it. He just glances at Jack, and raises his eyebrows, as if to ask “What do you want me to do, now?”

The rumbling is getting more violent. It’s a signal that the train will be approaching soon. There should be only about two minutes, until it arrives. That isn’t long.

“Hey, can you wake up Gunerz? Train should be coming, any minute now.” Jack says, despite the fact that she knows the exact minute that it will arrive. Caiti knows what she’s doing, and there is no way that Jack would have gotten anything less than the exact time of arrival.

Shadles nods, and quickly goes about removing the hands from around his chest. Jack is only surprised that he hadn’t done this, sooner.

There isn’t much time left, and Jack doesn’t want to waste it dealing with a situation that Shadles is already working on.. She needs to get Ryan awake as soon as possible. Gunerz might be the one shooting the grappling hook, but all three of them need to be ready to use it. She needs both of them to be completely alert by the time the train arrives.

Caiti should have given them more time. Should have woken them up half an hour ago, so that they could have been ready to move at any time.

It doesn’t matter. No one can change what has already happened. They just need to adapt to it and learn from their mistakes. It isn’t due to spend the entire mission complaining about a problem. It’s due to fix that problem.

Besides, they would have fallen back asleep, anyway.

When Jack shakes Ryan awake, it is just as gentle as she was with Shadles. The response, however, is just how she expected it to be.

Unlike Shadles’ calm awakening, Ryan jerks awake with a completely unnecessary amount of force. Barely a second later, he is already panting, like he has run for miles, for no reason at all. His eyes are wild, his hands are shaking, and he seems to stare right through her. There is no surprise, when he stumbles away on his hands and knees.

His eyes settle on the star on Jack’s chest and he just stares blankly. There is nothing in those eyes, but a cold and heavy distrust. It stings a little, even if it isn’t really directed at her. She knows that- knows this only started, after the Nazi camp, but it still stings. Before the war, she had never seen him so frazzled, and she hates to see it, now.

A few feet away, Gunerz is beginning to calm down. Shadles has a new bruise on his face, and Gunerz is sporting a similar one, but at least he is relaxed. He is reaching for his grappling hook, as he remembers his role in this mission. He isn’t nearly as panicked as Ryan is. Good.

“Ryan,” Jack says, softly. The sniper doesn’t flinch, but there is still nothing in his eyes, but the cool anger that is only ever there, when Jack isn’t. 

And as much as Jack wants to tell him to stay here and rest up as much as he can, she can’t do that. Even if she is his friend, she can’t help him, right now. She can’t give him the time necessary to relax. She is supposed to be leading this mission, and she can’t just play favorites and tell him to stay here. She needs him in this one- can’t do it without him. 

With a sunken heart, she says: “We have to go.”

“One minute!” Caiti calls, loudly, from the car. Bragg and Dooley are piled in the back, and Shadles is already moving towards her.

Ryan’s eyes glance up from Jack’s uniform to her face, and he finally relaxes. His hands settle, shaking a little less than the moments before. His breathing calms, quickly, from frantic to slightly out of his average pace. Jack holds out a hand to help him to his feet, and he takes it.

The ground is still shaking and the off balanced and tired sniper almost falls. He lets out a light, awkward laugh, and Jack helps to hold him steady. His cheeks are still blazing red, but she doesn’t mention it.

There is a gun in Gunerz’s hand, and he already has it aimed at the train track on the other side of the valley. The gun, a prototype grappling hook that Sorola _promised_ wasn’t going to get them killed, looks too large for Gunerz’s scrawny body and miniature hands.

“How far away is it?” Ryan asks, eyeing Gunerz with a particular discomfort. He must feel just as uncertain about this as Jack does. Gunerz looks too small to handle any type of gun, let alone a giant grappling hook launcher.

“Thirty seconds,” Jack answers. “Get your hook ready.”

Jack slides the shield off of her back and sets it down into the snow. This way, at least, there is easy access to it, when the train does arrive. It would take too long to remove it from its strap, if she waited any longer.

Ryan reaches for his belt, where his own prototype zipline hook is waiting. It’s small- barely enough to fit both of his hands around it- but it should be enough to get him across the 100 foot gap. Hopefully Sorola isn’t too much of an idiot and actually tested this before hand. Knowing him, that is a genuine worry.

Fifteen seconds to go, and Gunerz is still toying with the launcher. The safety is still on, and Jack clicks it off for him. There is no way that he would have noticed.

“Thanks.” The Private says, before aiming his launcher at the tracks. No one responds.

“We’ve got ten seconds,” Ryan announces, gesturing to his watch. “Eight, now.”

The rumbling gets stronger, and stronger, and then the train turns the corner.

“Gotcha,” Jack says. She rips the shield out of the ground, and holds onto one of the straps, with only one of her hands. “Gunerz, fire, already!”

The Private nods, and pulls the trigger. Three metal prongs, connected to the launcher by an enhanced rope (and Jack has no idea how that works, or what categorizes a rope as ‘enhanced’, but that’s Sorola’s problem, not hers) shoot out of the gun, with a ridiculous amount of force. Gunerz stumbles back, barely able to keep his hold on the launcher, as the prongs fly over the valley, below.

“You guys ready for this?” Jack says, forcing out the most dramatic tone that she can muster. She manages to make Ryan smirk, and Gunerz laugh, and she counts that as a success.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, Jack,” Ryan promises. He takes a look at Gunerz, and shrugs. “You’re alright, too.”

Jack never gets the chance to respond, because the prongs strike the mountain, and Gunerz is letting the launcher ground itself into the snow. Apparently, Sorola designed it to lock itself into any ground, so that anyone hanging off of it will be safe, no matter what. Now, with nothing to tie the ropes to, Jack appreciates that even more.

“You gonna go, Cap, or do I gotta lead the way?” Gunerz snarks. He is already reaching for the hook at his belt.

“See you on the other side, boys.” Jack slips her shield over the wire, and hangs onto the second strap with her free hand. She kicks off, and sends herself careening over the canyon.

It’s no different than a parachute, but for some reason, it feels completely foreign. Maybe it’s because it’s a faster descent, or maybe because she is clinging onto her shield, for dear life. Either way, feeling her feet swing through open air is more freeing than it is terrifying.

Distantly, she can hear Ryan screaming and Gunerz cheering, as they both follow her down the wire. There’s no way that the Nazis haven’t heard them, but Jack doesn’t really mind. It’s not like Lester has any way of escaping a moving train. Even if they completely ruin the stealth part of this mission, at least it’s more fun this way.

It’s a short way to cross the mountains and Jack almost regrets that. She likes the feeling of the wind trying to tear the helmet off of her head. She likes the rush of adrenaline, that accompanies hanging off of a thin wire, when she weighs more than enough to snap it.

She lets go of the right side of her shield, when she feels that she is close enough, and lets the momentum throw her to the left. She rolls, to steady her landing, and quickly pushes herself onto her feet. By the time she’s steady, Ryan has already landed, and she is quick to help him to his feet.

Before she can notice the awkward way that he is favoring his right arm- cradling it close to his chest- Gunerz lands with a shriek. He lets go of the hook a second too late, and almost slides straight into the mountain. The only thing that saves him is Jack’s hand, clinging to the back of his shirt. He lets go of the hook, finally, and lets it crash into the rocks. Jack just clicks her tongue, and lets go of his collar.

“Hey, Ryan, you ready with the charges?” Jack asks.

“Give me a second! We just landed!” He reaches for his bag, anyway, fumbling the zipper as fast as he can. It isn’t as fast as it should be.

“Excuses, excuses.” Jack says, smirking.

The explosives are small- barely large enough to fill Ryan’s palm. They look like they aren’t even large enough to blow open a lock, let alone an entire train compartment. Either way, they’re made by Sorola, so Jack takes a few steps back, before Ryan sets them. Gunerz follows her cue.

Ryan lets them drop to the floor, and they’re sticky enough that they remain in place. It allows for him to step back, away from the detonation. It’s not too bad a plan, but there is always a chance for disaster with those bombs. If they, somehow, manage to unstick themselves, the user could die before they even realize why.

“I’ll set them on three. Three,” Jack doesn’t tense. Gunerz does. “Two, one!”

Ryan has the trigger in hand, and doesn’t hesitate before pressing it. Jack shuts her eyes. 

The explosion is hot enough that she can feel the heat radiate past her, even when the train is heading in the completely opposite direction. If it was a small explosion, the wind would have kept the heat away from here. This one has enough force to propel fire and metal chips towards her in the opposite direction of where it should be going.

Jack trusts Sorola, a little more, when she opens her eyes and stares at the carnage. Half of the roof has caved in, crushing the guards beneath it. Wires and metal pieces lay in a pile at the floor of the train car, mixed in with the blood of the people that they are impaling. It’s not a pretty sight, but Jack doesn’t dwell on it for long. They have a mission to do, and it doesn’t involve watching men bleed.

“You guys ready to go?” She asks as they glance into the mangled cart.

“Let’s get us a Nazi!” Gunerz proclaims.

“Ryan?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Ryan answers with a grin.

Jack is the first of the trio to jump down into the train cart. A quick glance around reveals two guards, who are still standing, both armed and in shock. One of them, the one closest to Jack, is the first to break free of his surprise and reaches for his gun. It only takes one flick of Jack’s wrist to send her shield flinging across the room, off of first guard’s head and onto the second’s chest.

Gunerz drops down, when Jack is retrieving her shield, and Ryan follows immediately after. He has a pistol in his left hand. It won’t be much defense against the superweapons that the Nazis have. Still, Jack needs all three of them if this plan is going to work. She can’t just send him back up, because she feels that he isn’t armed well enough.

She can, however, ensure that he is safe.

“Gunerz, you head towards the back. Ryan and I are gonna move up.” She phrases it like a suggestion, but all of them know that it’s not. They know an order when they hear one.

“Gotcha, Cap,” Gunerz says, saluting with one hand and holding his rifle with the other. “I got you guys’s back!”

Jack leads Ryan forward, towards the entrance to the car. They need to keep moving, and finish this mission quickly and efficiently, or they could alert Lester to their presence. He may not have noticed the explosion (small chance if that), but he would definitely notice three soldiers killing off his men. They need to do this fast.

It doesn’t take too much work to force the car doors open. It’s meant to be opened, after all.

They're moving quickly- very quickly. Jack just needs to get this done, and her mind is stuck on the concept of moving forward, without any break at all. She doesn’t care how they do it. They just need to keep moving.

There are five Nazis waiting in the next car. Between Ryan’s pistol and Jack’s shield, they are all down in only a few seconds. Jack keeps moving, not giving either of them a chance to rest.

In the next car, there are four, but they take a little longer to take them down. Ryan doesn’t hit a single one of them. His horrendous aim is something that Jack would never have thought to attribute to any sniper- good or bad.

He missed the motorcycle, too. He should have hit him. He should be hitting these guys. “Ryan, is something up?”

“No, what’s the problem?” He sounds oblivious, but Jack knows him a little too well to believe that.

“You’re not really hitting your targets too well.” She points out. Ryan just shrugs one of his shoulders.

“It must be the colors of your suit. It’s distracting.” It’s a harmless jab, but he's clearly evading. Why?

They open another door, and are met with seven guards. It takes thirty seconds to take them down, with Ryan shooting slightly better, this time. Even so, he still misses a little too much.

“You’re a right-y, right?” Jack asks, as she rips her shield out of one of the Nazi’s legs.

Ryan hesitates, for a moment. “And, that’s a problem, because?”

“You’re shooting with your left.” Blunt.

“Maybe I’m trying to be ambidextrous. I’ve always envied those guys. They can shoot two guns at once! Damn, if I could.” He’s rushing through his words. He’s sweating and they haven’t even done anything too strenuous. This isn’t normal.

“Ryan-” Jack doesn’t have time to finish whatever she was about to say, because before she gets the chance, the car explodes.

She was too focused on Ryan- too focused on whatever the hell is wrong with him- to notice the Nazi by the door. She didn’t see the rocket launcher, armed with that strange blue energy that Sorola has been playing with, lately. She only sees it, when the explosive has already launched and the car goes up in flames.

She runs forward, shield in hand, and barely manages to block his next attack. As is, her only weapon flings across the room, landing towards the back, where Ryan is standing. She stumbles back, away from the Nazi, and back towards Ryan. She needs to protect him, because something is wrong and he can’t shoot, right now. She needs to do something, before it all goes wrong.

Before she can grab it, Ryan has the shield slung around his left arm. There is a pistol in his right hand, but he isn’t aiming it- isn’t using it- isn’t doing anything but holding Jack’s shield with his left, and diving in front of Jack to protect her from the next blast.

“What the fuck is up with this guy?” Ryan sputters.

“He’s a Nazi, and we’re Americans. I think it’s his nature.” Jack reaches for the shield, and Ryan lets her take it.

“Good point.” He concedes, as Jack stands to move to strike at the Nazi. The shield is almost out of her hand, when the Nazi pulls the trigger. 

The explosion sends Jack stumbling, but she manages to catch herself, before she falls. She sends her shield flying, and it hits the Nazi in the head. It falls, slamming against the ground with enough force to crack it. The Nazi falls back, through the train doors, and through the hole that he created in the ground. He falls, screaming bloody murder, but Jack doesn’t really notice. She’s too focused on finding out what’s wrong with Ryan.

Because she turns around, Ryan isn’t there. For a second she just thinks that he went back through the other door. He’s safe, and sound, and fine- just one car over. 

It wasn’t meant to be. It isn’t the Nazi that’s screaming, now. 

She rushes to the hole and finds him clinging to the wall of the train with his left hand, alone. He’s trying to reach up with his right, but it’s not moving. It’s stuck, halfway up his chest and not going any farther. Jack doesn’t know exactly why, but it’s hurt, and that’s all she needs to know. It’s hurt, and he can’t move it, and he’s going to fall, if she doesn’t help him.

“Ryan, just- hold on! I’ve got you!” She calls down. He hears her- doesn’t bother to say anything. 

He looks up to catch her gaze, and his eyes are too wild and too panicked, searching for anything that he can use to pull himself back up. There is nothing to be found. Just fragments of metal that would split his hand, if he touched them. They would not work as handholds and he knows that, but Jack doesn’t and dammit, she’s going to save him!

She grabs hold of one of the poles and forces herself down to his level. It’s not too much of a climb, for her, when she can hold 10 times her weight, without falter. For Ryan, this is bad. He has recovered, since his capture, but not completely. This isn’t the recruit Ryan, who could do a hundred pull-ups without breaking a sweat. This is the sniper Ryan, who has done nothing with his arms, but steady them, since he came back to base. This isn’t a man who could hold his own weight, for too long. This is the man, who missed the driver. He isn’t in top form. Especially not with the way he is cradling his right hand, and just hanging on with his left.

She needs to rescue him, quickly, or-

No, she’ll rescue him. He’ll be fine. This is not an either-or situation. This is a rescue scenario, where the sniper is dragged back onto the train and bitched at for being stupid. Nothing bad is going to happen, here.

Jack tries to skirt across, but there are no handholds to grab. Nothing to reach, and if she tries, then there will be problems for both of them.

Not death problems, though. There will be no death problems. Everyone is going to make it out safe and sound, and they can all laugh about this, later.

She holds out her hand, and frantically (not frantic, nothing is wrong- she keeps telling herself) tells him to grab it- get it- pull himself up- come on! He tries, but his arm can’t make it that far. Again, it freezes halfway above his chest and goes no further.

“Jack!” Ryan tries, terrified in a way that he never has been before. This is death. Even at the Hydra prison camp, it hadn’t been such an inevitable sort of end as this. At least, there, he had a likelihood of rescue- an entire military to bring them back. Here, if he falls, he is dead. He is gone, and he will die. (And Jack has to remind herself that this is not death- this is not inevitable. Everyone will make it out of this and everyone will be fine). “I-”

Ryan’s left hand slips, without warning, and all Jack can hear is screaming. Ryan screaming, as loud as his lungs can manage, and he is falling- falling- falling. Falling to the ground that is 200 feet below them. Ryan screaming, as he is falling down to his death. Ryan screaming, because he is falling, and dying, and he will never get to go home to see his family- his friends. Ryan screaming, because Jack didn’t save him. Because he died for a war that he didn’t even want to fight, in the first place.

She doesn’t see him hit the ground- the train is moving too fast to grant her that brief sense of closure. She doesn’t see anything, past Ryan falling oh-so far. She doesn’t hear his screaming end- doesn’t hear his last yells as he collides with the icy canyon. She doesn’t know what he wanted to say to her- just knows that his last words were wasted on her- the woman, who didn’t even save him.

God, he didn’t even make it to the end of the line.

She climbs back up to the train, and can barely feel anything beyond the swelling in her chest. Somewhere in the train are dozens of enemies, but Jack can’t even think of them, anymore. Ryan is falling- falling- falling (fell- fell- fell), and Jack isn’t doing anything about it- can’t do anything about it. He’s dead, or dying, or lost in the bottom of a canyon, and Jack doesn’t even know where they are.

He’s gone, and some part of Jack, something that she had never noticed before, dies. Dies, along with him.

She can still hear his screaming, ringing through her head like some sick melody. She wants it to stop- needs it to stop- needs it to end somehow! She needs him to be next to her- needs him to slug her in the shoulder and tell her that he’ll always be there. 

He won’t- he can’t- he never will again, because he’s _dead_. He’s dead, like Heyman. Dead, like this Nazi. Dead, like everything that Jack never thought to relate to Ryan. Because Ryan was never supposed to die. It just wasn’t supposed to happen- can’t have happened, except it did and now he’s gone.

There’s salt in her mouth, and she doesn’t know where it’s coming from. She wants to spit it out, but she can’t bring herself to. Can’t bring herself to wipe the salty water away from her lips. Can’t bring herself to think about how it’s coming from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. Can’t bring herself to stop the noises that tear themselves out of her throat. Can’t bring herself to think, because her best friend is dead and it’s  _ all her fault _ .

Time passes, and she doesn’t really think about it going by. No Nazis come after her, so Jack doesn’t really have to think about that, either. Just has to think about screaming and falling and dying.

Honestly, if a Nazi came by, aimed a gun at her head, jammed the gun, stole another one, and aimed it again, she probably wouldn’t have done anything. Because she’s thinking too hard and yet she isn’t thinking at all. There is nothing here, but death and falling and screaming.

At one point, after the water around her eyes has dried, she feels a hand pressing against her shoulder. It’s too small- the fingers not long enough and the palm not fat enough to be Ryan’s, so for a few seconds, she ignores it.

When she finally looks up, she sees Gunerz staring at her, with eyes narrowed in confusion and a deep frown. He looks around the room and gestures towards a handcuffed Lester, that hadn’t been there, before (or had he? Nothing is making sense and everything is muddy and wrong, because Ryan is dead and nothing is meant to make sense, anymore, and  _ why is Lester smiling) _ , and Gunerz asks “Where’s Ryan?”

Jack breaks down, all over again.

\---

There’s a funeral, but no body to show for it. There’s a tombstone, but no real grave. There’s a letter, but no destination. They ask Jack where it should go, and Jack just buries the letter under his tombstone. That is the only thing buried.

Only ten people are present at the funeral. They don’t have the money to send the C Team back to Austin, for the real ceremony, so they just host it in the middle of occupied Germany. No one Ryan knew from his life, before the military, makes an appearance.

They ask Jack to speak at the funeral, and she doesn’t- can’t- won’t. It’s too much, too quickly, and Jack can’t do it. She doesn’t know what to say, and she doesn’t know how to phrase that nothingness.

“It’s my fault,” is probably not a good speech. Jack has to hold herself back from saying it, because it’s true. It’s completely and utterly true, and no one can deny that. As much as Dooley pats her back, and Bragg tries to blame anyone else, she knows that it’s true. She may not have killed Ryan, directly, but she sent him into a situation, where there was no other choice.

There was something wrong with his arm. Looking back on it, now, that much is obvious. There was something wrong that restricted movement and disrupted his aim. He’d been favoring it for days, and yet Jack hadn’t done anything about it. Jack was the superior officer, in charge of getting them all out alive, and she had overlooked an essential part of the mission. She had failed to ensure that her men got out safely. She did that. She can't even blame the Nazi.

She can see, now, by the way that his arm could barely move above his chest, that it should have been obvious. She should have noticed, somewhere along the line. She should have realized in the forest, when the normally balanced man found himself stumbling into trees. She should have realized, when he was shooting with his left hand, and missing with his right. She should have noticed when he tripped over that branch, and had to use his left hand to muffle his own yells. She should have noticed, then.

She should have noticed, but she didn’t and now he’s dead. He’s dead and it’s Jack’s fault.

She should have planned more efficiently- shouldn’t have rushed the mission- should have paid more attention. Maybe she could have kept him alive, if they hadn’t slept in, only to wake up with slowed reflexes and two panicked soldiers. Maybe she should have stayed with him and protected him with her shield, instead of running off to face the Nazi.

She should have, she would have, but she didn’t. She didn’t save him. She wasn’t smart enough, or wasn’t perceptive enough, but it doesn’t matter, anymore. The only thing that matters boils down to two simple facts.

Ryan died and it’s Jack’s fault.

She drinks- oh god, she drinks. She drinks gallon after gallon of a substance that doesn’t work on her, anymore. It takes 146 bottles to get her buzzed (she’s tested it), and she hasn’t gotten drunk since before the experiment. This is the twentieth time she has tried, since she let Ryan fall, and the twenty first time overall.

Every sip that touches her lips reminds her of the fact that he preferred coke to a bottle. Every time she tries a bottle of coke, it is far too sweet to keep going. She can’t handle sweet, right now.

Caiti tries to help, tries to pry the bottles from Jack’s hands. As much as the captain appreciates the effort, she doesn’t let her. She doesn’t want to stop drinking- doesn’t want to pretend that everything is normal. She just wants the screams to stop echoing through her head.

Caiti still tries, though. She orders the bartender to refuse Jack drinks, and when he does anyway, she socks him in the jaw. She tells Dooley to keep an eye on her, and Dooley is keen to follow his orders. But he’s not much of a defense, when he is half of Jack’s height.

Surprisingly, or maybe inevitably, after a month of mourning and drinks, it is Hullum that brings her back to normal.

She is in his “office”- little more than a tent set up in the middle of a military encampment. He’s looking over maps, never even glancing up when she walks in. She clears her throat, not wanting to have to wait for him to respond to her.

It wasn’t her choice to come here. There was some rookie, who came by the bar to inform her that Hullum requested her presence. If she had it her way, she would be back with the Commandos, trying to see how many bottles she could finish, before Dooley managed to stop her. So far, the record is 167, and, even then, she only stopped because she felt bad for him.

Here, any semblance of that humorous- half buzzed, half competitive side to her is gone. Standing in front of Hullum isn’t something she likes doing, after he denied her initial request to rescue the 107th, all those months ago.

(And Jack can’t help but wonder if things might have ended up better if she let the actual soldiers do their jobs, and didn’t try to rescue the captives. Maybe Ryan would still be alive. Maybe he could have come up with some sort of plan, and wouldn’t have died along the way. Maybe Gunerz, or Dooley, or Bragg, or Shadles would have found some way to help. Maybe.)

“What do you want, Hullum?” She sounds cold and stern, and that is just how she wants to sound, right now.

“Lester gave up the information. We know where Coal is hiding, some airplane hanger in Siberia. Good spot for hiding, but pretty shit for just about everything else,” He lets out a light, awkward laugh. When he sees Jack’s blank face, he quickly gets to the point. “We’d like to send your team to-”

“Screw you.” Jack says, before he can go any further.

The last time she sent her team out, they came back one man short. This time, she worries that they will lose more. She doesn’t want there to be a _next time_ , because _next_ _time_ might mean that the C Team won’t be coming back, at all. She can’t risk losing anyone else. She made that mistake, already. She won’t be making it, again.

Hullum sighs, and finally looks away from his maps. There is something in his expression, something apologetic, hesitant, and annoyed, merged into one strange mix of emotions. It's more annoyed than anything.

Jack sneaks a look down at the maps, and sees a caricature of the Hydra symbol, a minimalist rendition of the old greek legend, drawn onto a small segment of Russia.

“Look, Pattillo, I get that you’re in mourning- I really do- but it’s been a month. We’re at a focal point of the war. We can’t have our main strike team down, just because one of them’s down for the count,” the General says. He sounds honest, but something in Jack’s chest still boils, at the words. “We are paying for your tab, you know.” An attempt at humor, but it doesn’t work. It’s not like she’s drinking for the hell of it, anyway. He shouldn’t be holding that against her. Prick.

“Again, screw you.”

“Captain, this isn’t about you,” the General sounds like he, too, has his his breaking point. His previously soft persona has shattered, revealing something darker- angrier. Jack doesn’t miss the way that his fists clench at his sides. “This isn’t about me, either. Or Haywood. It’s about the world. It’s about keeping those Nazis away from the rest of us. So you can just sit here and twiddle your thumbs up your ass, or you can try to avenge your friends death. Either way, we really need an answer now, because I can ship you back to the States, if that’s what you want. We don’t need draftees, Cap. We’ve got enough of those. We need volunteers, and if you want to sign out, then give me your resignation letter, and I’ll send you on your merry way- no fanfare needed. Just give me the word, and you’re out.”

There’s only two things about the impromptu speech that really sticks to Jack. The first is the reason that she joined the war in the first place. She is here to help people- Ryan was here to help people. They were sent here to save the world. Even if Ryan couldn’t do that, Jack still can. Jack is still here to do that. She can’t just abandon that when the fate of the free world is in jeopardy. She’s supposed to be Captain America. It’s time to step up, and take that role.

The second thing is the part about avenging Ryan. She can definitely get behind that ideology. 

“For the record, you’re still an asshole.”

“I’m also your boss, so how about we actually start planning this thing?”

On the map, they use bottle caps to symbolize soldiers. It hurts to only see five of them.

\---

The plan is simple, but Jack goes over it seven different times. Once, with Hullum. Once, with each individual member of the Commandos. Once, with the group. She ensures that each and every person knows each and every detail of the plan. She double checks and triple checks, and then comes back, hours later, for the 15th check.

She interrogates her team, searches for any injuries or hesitation, or anything that won’t have them working as efficiently and safely as possible. She has them triple check their guns, to ensure that none of them will jam. She has their body armor replaced, and has Sorola line them with an extra layer of armor.

She takes every precaution that she can, and takes a few extras after that. She needs to know that, this time, her team will be safe.

Even when they’re only a few feet from the base, she has them reloading their ammunition. They may have done it five minutes earlier, but it’s always good to check. 

They don't appreciate it too much.

“Make sure your shoelaces are all tied,” Bragg remarks, as he locks the safety onto his gun, for the third time. “Can’t have you tripping over ‘em during a firefight.”

“And zip up your coats. You’ll catch a cold, while you’re killing Nazis.” Dooley comments, snidely.

“Don’t forget your belt,” Gunerz, this time. “We ain’t wanting your pants falling, and landing in the blood pools.”

Shadles glances down at his belt, and moves to stretch it a little tighter. Jack can’t tell if he’s being genuinely cautious or quietly sarcastic. Either way, it still annoys her. French bastard.

“You’re all comedy geniuses.” Jack mutters, rolling her eyes at their sarcasm. She’s just trying to keep them alive- it’s not like she’s doing anything wrong. They can fight her all they want, but she is going to succeed, this time. They are all going to make it out, safe and sound.

“In Soviet America, Captain America ties your shoelaces for you.” Gunerz says, putting on his best russian accent. It isn’t very good, at all.

“Captain America’s gonna tie your shoelaces to a tree, in a second.” Jack warns, but the teenager just laughs. It’s a laugh, that she hasn’t heard in far too long. Come to think of it, she hasn’t heard any of them laugh, for a while. Between Ryan’s death, the lack of missions, and Jack’s descent into ineffective drinking, it couldn’t have been easy for them.

It’s funny, how easy it is to realize her mistakes, once they have already happened. Maybe it’s a good thing that she took this mission.

Morale is higher than it has been in the past month. Gunerz is laughing, Dooley is smiling, Bragg is trying to hide his grin, and Shadles is just happy to have a gun in his hand. It’s good to see the team genuinely excited, again. It’s been too long.

There are gunmen, up a large building that is still barely 100 feet away from them. They haven’t noticed them, yet- too distracted by distant birds, apparently, but it is only a matter of time. If they don’t move quickly, they will be spotted, and the whole plan will be ruined. Jack orders her team to move.

Dooley and Bragg move first, as per the plan. They split off, Dooley keeping an eye on the East, and Bragg to the West. They move back, until they are about ten feet away from each other. They march forward. Shadles and Gunerz slip in, between them, to cover their sides. They form a square, each watching the other’s backs. No one is going to be able to sneak up on them, from any direction. It’s a method that has worked for them, before.

Jack lags behind, slightly, to maintain a last defense. If one of them misses something, she is just far back enough to take out the threat. Even with her patriotic uniform, and a body type that isn’t exactly subtle, she can still get away with sneaking around much better than they will. It has to do with not screaming, whenever she throws her shield. It’s a true skill that only she and Shadles have mastered. It doesn’t matter. The C Team was never meant for stealth.

They reach the enemy compound and quickly learn that their formation is pointless. There is no one to attack them. No one to stop them, before they shoot down the two guards, by the door. They go down screaming for help that will not come. If they weren’t Nazis, Jack might have felt bad for them, but the war changed things. As it is, she just steps over their bodies and sighs when their blood stains her uniform. 

Before the serum, she didn’t want to kill anyone. She doesn’t like bullies- doesn’t like people who hurt others for the fun of it. There is a point to fighting- a point, to the seemingly mindless slaughter of human beings. Bullies don’t have a sound reason- they just do it to soothe their narcissistic tendencies or they do it for fun. Jack doesn’t mind taking those people down.

She doesn’t like to kill anyone, but this is necessary. As much as she wants a way around it, there is none. This is her job- her duty- her responsibility. This is for Ryan’s revenge, their punishment- this is saving the word. This is all she can do, if she wants to save the lives of the three billion people who share this planet. 

The door is locked with a small keypad, stuck to the wall. They have the code, another gift from Lester, so it isn’t much of a problem. Dooley types 8-0-0-8-5, and the door opens, without him having to press another key.

They heft their weapons, aiming them at the door, as it slides open of its own accord. They aren’t used to that- haven’t ever seen that technology before. They don’t dwell on it for too long, though. They aren’t scientists, they aren’t going to study every aspect of their new technology. They have a mission to complete, and they are going to do it. There’s enough weird shit in this war. One more change won’t win them the fight.

There doesn’t seem to be a point to their weaponry, because there is no one waiting on the opposite side of the doorway. There is just an empty hallway, not unlike the hall from Lester’s base. The only difference is that here, instead of framed pictures of Lester, there is only Coal’s face gracing the walls. 

His angry red face watches them as they move through his base. Every photo is the same, his eerie black pupils and skinless skull. Apparently, since Hydra defected from Hitler’s regime, he has given up his plastic face, and fully embraced a face of muscle and bone, instead.

“ _ Huh, here I thought the Nazi thing was the big flaw. _ ” Ryan, had said, upon meeting the skinless man. Even now, that statement rings through Jack’s head, as she stares at the photographs.

They walk through the halls, without a word, but Jack can feel the tension building. The team is nervous and rightly so. By now, they should have been passed by more than two footsoldiers. There should be Hydra warriors, lining the halls and armed to the teeth. They shouldn’t be strolling through the hallway, and pointing guns into empty room, after empty room.

This is supposed to be Hydra’s main headquarters. It is a compound large enough to hold 500 tanks, without filling up a quarter of the space. It should not, by any stretch of reality, be empty.

They keep moving, even when Bragg starts to slow down, a little, and Shadles has to push him forward. They keep moving, when Gunerz drops his gun, and has to run forward to catch up with the group, when he picks it back up. If there is another mission, after this, he’ll be chastised for that. If there isn’t, Jack will be giving him her thanks, and shipping him back to New York.

This is supposed to be their last mission. The reality of that sinks into Jack’s brain, and she almost stumbles as she realizes it. She might never see the C Team, again. Normandy has already been stormed. Stalingrad is in pieces. The real Nazis have gone the way of Napoleon. One more fight and it’s over.

After this, Shadles will go back to France, Dooley and Bragg will go back to whatever the hell they’re from, Gunerz will go back to New York, and Jack will probably go back to being the government’s number one propaganda machine.

If Ryan had survived, he would be going back home. He could go back to Austin- could leave a war, that he never wanted to join, in the first place. Could have died from old age, and not a laser gun. If he had lived through that one mission, he could have gone home.

Instead, he is at the bottom of some canyon, somewhere, to be torn apart by wolves.

Instead, it’s five and not six.

Instead, Jack is supposed to be the sniper. She is supposed to be the soldier at the back, taking down anyone that her team misses. She will be the one going home- not Ryan. There’s a weight pressing down in Jack’s throat, but she ignores it and keeps moving forward. She can mourn later- can drink it all away later. For now, she needs to lead her team. That is her only job.

They turn the corner, and, unsurprisingly, there is no one waiting on the other side. They keep moving, and they keep pointing their guns into empty rooms. Coal’s face keeps staring them down, as they pass it by.

“So, Lester lied, right? This whole thing was bullshit, right?” Bragg says, eventually. His voice crushes the overwhelming silence that Jack hadn’t even noticed, and forces her back into reality.

“You might be right.” She admits. She still leads them forward- can’t bear to back down, when they’re so close to their goal. If they’re wrong- they’re wrong, and they can right that mistake later. For now, she doesn’t want to leave too soon and let an enemy force go by unchecked. She needs to stop Hydra, now, if she wants to save innocent lives. If she leaves them, they will kill countless people. She needs to save them, as quickly as humanly possible. As quickly as superhumanly possible!

She finds herself gnawing on her lip, as she walks. She didn’t even notice it, at first, but now she can feel the ridges in her lips, where her teeth had sunk in. This wait is unnerving, to say the least of it.

They turn another corner, and are again greeted by nothing, but a staircase that isn’t even guarded. They keep moving forward- not bothering to take the stairs. There’s more chance that the enemy will be on the ground level than the upper floors.

Dooley slouches and lets out a loud sigh. Shadles grunts and tightens his grip on his gun, until his knuckles are white.

Jack is about to call out for the enemy- if only to draw them out and end this endless waiting. For all she knows, this is their plan. Keep them waiting, until they are panicked and jumpy, and then Hydra can drop from the ceiling and shoot them, where they stand.

Jack looks up, but there is only tiles on the ceiling. No enemies to be found. She doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

They turn the corner, and this time, they aren’t greeted by nothing. Now, Jack can see why they needed an airport hanger.

There are rockets. Dozens of rockets, lined up side by side in a room large enough to fit an army. They are all blaring blue, obviously infused with whatever power Coal and Lester have managed to harness. Each bomb has the name of a city painted in large lettering, as if calling out their danger. New York, Seattle, Moscow, London, and Berlin are the ones closest to them. Even if only these rockets manage to strike those targets, millions would die. All of them could take out billions, if not everyone in the world.

There are hundreds of men surrounding the rockets, making small adjustments to the weapons, or simply marching through the hangar. Half of them are armed, with the laser weaponry, and the other half just seem to be scientists, without even a pistol to protect them. Still, even they can pose a threat, if it gets down to it. There are five of them, against an entire army. This isn’t going to be an easy fight, if it’s a winnable one at all.

There is a chant of “Hail Hydra!” that echoes through the room, every few seconds. The marching men scream it, all in time, and occasionally the scientists join in. After about thirty seconds, it sounds more like gibberish than words.

The C Team hasn’t been noticed, yet, so if they start firing, they could take out twenty- maybe thirty men, before the soldiers spot them. When they are eventually spotted, they will be sitting ducks for the dozens of other men with guns. They’re screwed, no matter what plan they come up with.

Jack looks up, away from the rockets, and looks to the upper platforms. There is one, in the back of the rectangular room, which instantly draws her attention. A giant banner with the Hydra symbol looming over the room. Under it stands the man that they were sent there to hunt.

Coal stands, staring directly at Jack, with a grin staining his gorish face. His eyes are narrowed, in amusement, and he rests his hands behind his back.

“Welcome, Captain,” When Coal speaks, the room falls silent. Each and every soldier there seems to shut down for this madman. A mob of zombies. “It is good to see you, again. I have to say, I am truly sorry about your friend. The dead one? Truly a tragedy. He could have been useful for us.” He shakes his head, like he gives a semblance of a fuck. “You know, it would not have happened, if you had just joined me, in the first place. We would have already had the power of the world at our feet, and your precious little boyfriend would still be alive. It’s tragic that he had to die for you to realize. America, the flag on your chest, is not your friend. In my world, there will be no flags- no wars.”

Dooley groans. The monologue is going a bit too long for his taste.

“There won’t be freedom, though. That’s kind of a big thing, for me.” Jack says, calmly. Coal is trying to get on her nerves and she won’t let him. Can’t let him or he’ll beat her, before the fight even starts.

“Freedom? In my world, there will be freedom. The freedom to live. Evidently, it seems that you do not want this freedom. A pity. My new world will mourn you, Captain, as a woman who could have been a god, but failed to think.”

“With all due respect, you fuckin Nazi shit, you can shove your new world up your ass.” It isn’t Jack that speaks, like Coal expects- like everyone expects. No, it’s Gunerz, with his gun aimed at Coal’s skull and his finger on the trigger.

Gunerz fires, and the world devolves into chaos.

There are bullets flying through the air, and Jack has to keep the entire team under a shield that is barely two feet long. It isn’t an easy fit, at all, but it holds them. Dooley and Shadles are shooting from the sides, while Bragg is shooting from above, and Gunerz is crouched, beneath Jack’s legs, and firing from below.

There’s screaming, a lot of screaming, before the first dozen Nazis are dead. There’s even more, when the next twelve hit the ground. There’s already rivers of blood, and they haven’t even been fighting for more than ten seconds. It’s a ridiculously easy fight- something Jack never expected to witness. In her experience, fights are supposed to be difficult. They usually aren’t slaughters, like this.

They’re firing into a crowd- the easiest targets possible. It’s impossible to miss, because if they miss a target, there is one standing six feet away, or two inches, or twenty feet. They have pistols, and rifles, and every gun that they could possibly need. This is a massacre.

The Nazis have guns and the pulse weapons, but neither break past their barriers. It is five soldiers against an entire army, and they have killed 40 men, without any casualties. Only a few hundred more to go.

It’s luck. They don’t realize it, but it’s luck. It’s luck that Jack has such a large shield. It’s luck that they were all ready. It’s luck that the Nazis haven’t hit them yet.

Luck doesn’t hold forever.

On the 20th man, Bragg runs out of ammunition. He ducks down into the shield’s cover and asks for any extras. No one has.

On the 27th man, Dooley runs out. He ducks behind, too. His fists are solid white at his sides.

On the 42nd, Shadles runs out and lets out a loud and angry grunt to tell the world that, yes, he is angry. Surprise.

On the 43nd, Gunerz runs out. Unlike the others, he doesn’t bother to duck back behind the shield. He isn’t quick to hide to ensure his protection in the short term, and his death in the long term. When Gunerz runs out of ammunition, he runs out of cover of Jack’s shield.

There is no warning- no whispered game plan. There is just Gunerz grinning and nodding, and then Gunerz sliding out under Jack’s legs, and running towards the crowd of enemy soldiers. He reaches for one of the guns, and tears it out of a dead man’s hand. The enemy stops firing, for a split second. 

If it was shock, amazement, or pure humor that made the men stop- Jack will never know. All she knows is that they stop. It gives Gunerz the chance. He grabs three more of the pulse guns, and slides them back to his friends.

Jack yells “Gunerz!”, at the same time as Coal yells “Fire!”

Gunerz doesn’t make it back to the shield.

They fire bullet after bullet into the poor boy’s body. The first shot is to the leg- then to the chest- then to the spine- then to the arm- then to the head- then to the other arm- and then, Jack loses track. It’s an entire army’s worth of bullets, loaded into one ill-fated body. Gunerz doesn’t even have time to scream, before there are wounds in every every portion of his body. 

If he didn’t die instantly, the next shot cemented it. Gunerz is hit, and blue fire quickly spreads, until every ounce of him is a fine blue dust that fades away instantly. There is not even a pile of ash left, where the boy used to be. There is just an imprint of his body, torn apart, as it was left by his bloodstains.

Jack just wishes that every one of them had one of the laser powered guns, because that would have made it so much easier. Instead of a load of bullets and then a laser, he could have died instantly, instead. He would have suffered less, that way. Even if he did only suffer for a second.

The entire team is cursing, screaming, threatening, but it won’t help. No amount of screaming will bring someone back. Jack knows that well enough by now. The world is a bitch, and it doesn’t like the C Team. Jack knows that, now, too.

Someone is screaming in some language that isn’t German and isn’t English. It’s quite a rarity to hear and it takes Jack a second to realize who that is. It’s a deep voice, gravelly from disuse and rough from years of warfare. Shadles finally speaks, and neither Gunerz, nor Ryan could ever hear him do it. 

It’s a quick translation for Jack- four years of sitting in on Ryan’s french classes is a great help- and she quickly translates for Dooley and Bragg (and somehow not Gunerz).

‘ _ He was good _ !’

It’s hurt, and desperate, and Jack couldn’t agree more.

They don’t have time to revel in the fact that Shadles actually has a voice. In all honesty, they don’t even have time to think about Gunerz death. As much as Jack hates it, they are in the middle of a battle. There is no time to mourn. That comes later.

“Keep going.” Jack orders. They listen.

Dooley, Bragg, and Shadles each grab hold of their newfound weapons. They’re stained, in a way that Jack hopes her shield isn’t, with the last remnants of their friend- his blood, and guts, and brains. Dooley looks ready to throw up, from touching it, alone.

Shadles says something, under his breath. By the way that he doesn’t look at them, he doesn’t seem to respect a response, at all. It is a desperate request in a desperate situation.

“Shadles, we can’t-” Dooley starts, but Jack cuts him off.

“He’s saying we need to go.” No one asks how she knows french. They are all too preoccupied to care. They deserve an array of medals for that. It’s easy to get distracted in the middle of a fight, by a death or a stupid fact.

“Do we?” Bragg asks, tone clipped.

“He’s not wrong. We’ll be sitting ducks, if we stay here. They’re gonna wear us down, eventually.” Jack glances up at Coal, who is still standing on his platform and watching bullets and plasma whip past rockets. They could explode at any moment, just by proximity to the lasers. This is the worst environment for a fight.

“So, what’s the plan?” Bragg says.

Their luck has ended. For the second time in a row, their seemingly inexorable luck has failed them. They need to quit while they’re still ahead.

“We run.”

“It’s not good to run away from a fight, Cap.” Dooley argues. If they run, now, Hydra won’t fear them, anymore. For the time being, they have been laying low, not making any bold moves. They have been letting the Allies tear them apart, one compound at a time. If they stop fearing the Allies, they will stop fearing taking another step. They will take down the world, and leave a pile of ash in its place.

But they have no other choice. The only options are stay and die, or run and live to fight another battle. The first isn’t truly an option. Jack isn’t going to let another of them die.

It isn’t like she can control it, anyway.

There is a weak plan, not really fit for use yet, forming in Jack’s mind. It’s feeble and there’s barely any chance that it will work, but they have no other options. If they run, they’ll be weak. If they stay, they will die. So, Jack does neither.

“On my mark, run back. Keep running until you see the stairs.” Jack orders. Dooley scoffs.

“So, that’s your plan? Hide upstairs? No one’ll follow us, there!” His sarcasm drips like venom off of his tongue. “Really?”

“Coal’s the big bad, here. If we take him down, the rest will be dropping like flies. Really evil- really Nazi flies.”

“You want us to ambush him? Listen, Cap, I trust you and all, but I kind of don’t want to die.” Dooley glances down at his hand, at the blood that decorates his palm.

“Trust me, I don’t want you to die either, but-”

“But?” Dooley exclaims, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“ _ But  _ this is the only chance we have of saving the rest of the world,” Jack pauses, and catches the panicked faces of Dooley and Bragg. “Look, you can leave, now. No one’s going to punish you for it, but if you want your families to get out of this alive, you’re going to have to help me on this one.”

“As long as I’m not required to die, I’m in.” Bragg says, without much enthusiasm.

Shadles grunts, though he can’t have understood much of that speech. Somehow, after spending the past few months- if not years- surrounded by English speakers, he still hasn’t picked up an ounce of English. Either way, he’ll be coming along, so Jack doesn’t mind. He’s good at improvising in ways that advance their plans, without even knowing what those plans are.

“Well, if everyone else is doing it.” Dooley mutters. He’s still firing at the Nazis, and staring at the ground, where Gunerz had lain, at the same time. Jack wants to tell him to stop- to take a breath, but she can’t. They have to fight. There are no breaths left to be taken.

“On my mark,” Jack pauses, and the three gunners keep firing. “Mark.”

The Nazis aren’t expecting it, when they break formation. They hesitate, again. It’s enough. The move is so stupid- so simple that they don’t really know what to do. It takes a second for them to begin their chase.

In that second, the remaining members of the C Team are sprinting towards the staircase. Jack still has her shield in her hands, prepared for when they reach Coal. The others run in front of her, throwing back glances to ensure that they aren’t being followed.

They turn the corner at the same time as the Hydra soldiers begin to move. The C-Team runs like mad men, sprinting away from death with fury. They run like that Hydra driver did, all those days ago, when every member of C Team was alive and accounted for. They reach the stairs, before the soldiers have a chance at reaching them.

There are screams- battle cries- coming from the other end of the hallway, and the four Allied soldiers know that that means that the enemy is nearing. If they want to survive, they will have to run even faster to have any hope of joining Coal.

Jack, enhanced as she is, runs faster than all of them combined. She sprints past them- not even realizing that she is doing so. She’s so close to Coal, so close to liberation, so close to cold and bloody revenge. If she can stop Coal, today, she can save millions- if not billions of lives. This is what she swore to do and she is planning to do it.

She passes by a window on the staircase, and doesn’t even think about it- is unaware that the rest of her team does.

She doesn’t notice herself reach the top of the staircase. Doesn’t notice the large metal doors automatically slam shut, behind her. She is too focused on her goal- too focused on her vengeance, for both of her deceased friends. Is too focused on anger to feel any sort of worry.

The entrance to the second floor is nowhere near the entrance of the first. Instead of winding hallways, with offices scattered here and there, it is just an open floor plan. There are no walls, no rooms, and oddly enough, there is no ceiling. The entire second floor to this airplane hangar is open. The terrifying thing is that it is not empty.

The floor is covered with planes. Mostly bombers- all intended to carry one of the weapons that are held on the first floor. Here, there are no attendants. No one is there to watch the planes- no pilots to fly them. Apparently, their plan isn’t to fire those weapons, today, or each plane would be surrounded by Hydra bombers. In fact, for such an important room, there is only one man present. The same man that Jack has been waiting to see.

“You know, Captain, there is a saying among my people,” Coal tilts his head, his almost-black eyes seeming to stare through the floor. “‘Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.’ Do you know what that means, Captain?”

“You really wanted to stick with that Hydra theme?”

“It means if I die here, today, there will be men to take my place. If you die here, today, you will be nothing but a bloody flag,” Coal has a gun on his waist, but he makes no move to reach for it. He just keeps walking, toward one of the planes, an enormous bomber with the words  _The_ _ Maw _ written across both of its wings. “That is the difference between you and I. If I die, I will die a martyr. If you die, you will die a casualty.”

“And I should give a shit- why?” The only reason that Jack doesn’t begin the fight, now, is because she knows that he has something up his sleeve. He wouldn’t meet her unguarded, if he didn’t have a plan. She can wait a few moments to test his tricks, before she lets them succeed.

“Because,” Coal pressed his arm against something on the plane’s rear, and Jack can hear metal squeal as the rear entrance retracts “I am Hera, and you are Hercules. Even if you kill my Hydra, I will still succeed, and you will end up getting yourself killed.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” The door retracts, fully, and Coal steps inside. He has his hand on the handle of his gun, and is ready to remove it at any moment. Jack is ready to throw her shield, too.

“It does not matter. What matters is that by the end of the hour, your home city will be wiped off the map. Project Blue does wonders for bombs.” There is a smile on Coal’s face, and then the rear of the plane snaps shut- preventing Jack from moving. Unlike its opening, it doesn’t do it slowly. It slams down, catching on the ground, with no hope of lifting it again. There is no way in and according to Coal, that plane contains a bomb that will end Austin.

Jack has a shield and absolutely nothing else. Her team isn’t there and she has no idea where they went. She has no means of contacting Caiti, or Hullum, or Sorola, or anyone who could stop Coal mid-flight. It’s hopeless.

She hears the engines start, listens to the crackling of fire inside the plane. Watches blue energy flicker from the exterior, and snap across the room. It is an energy that Coal has harnessed, but for the first time, she wonders if he can really control it. It seems far too chaotic of an energy for any man to obtain power over it. The sparking and the fire seems just too much for any human to conquer. 

With a heavy heart, she realises that there is only one way to test that theory.

The plane starts to move, slowly, down the runway. It is now or never and never means the deaths of thousands- if not millions of people.

As the plane lifts off, Jack grabs hold of the wing.

The wind is rough, even when they are only a few feet off of the ground. Even now, she can feel the strain of takeoff. She isn’t a light woman- the enhancement added a significant amount of weight to her body and now she can feel the strain of that. Every pound is another burden that she has to hold up by her hands alone. It isn’t like the zipline, where she is in control of both speed and force. Here, Coal is in control, and if he hasn’t noticed that she is hanging on, he will soon.

One hand is holding her shield, so she locks it into the strap on her back. It throws off her balance for a second, before she grabs onto the wing with both of her hands. Now, her grip feels a little stronger, but as the plane slowly climbs to higher altitudes, it gets much harder to hold on. She is spinning roughly, slamming back against the tail of the thing. It hurts less than it should.

The engines are roaring, but she can hear distant screaming. She wonders if it’s Coal. It isn’t her, she knows that much- it doesn’t sound close, at all. She doesn’t risk a look down, but she hopes that it isn’t one of her teammates. She doesn’t think she can handle it- losing another one of them.

She risks pulling herself onto the wing, entirely, and it takes a significant amount of effort. It feels like she is three times what she normally weighs, as she hauls herself up with her hands alone. She manages it, and half crawls- half clings to the wing.

It doesn’t take much effort to smash the glass window with her elbow, but it is a thousand times harder to stay upright. There is a sudden deflux of air, pulling in Jack’s direction, as it escapes the pressurized plane. She manages to squeeze her body through the small gap and into the plane. She almost gets stuck halfway into the plane, but luckily she manages to wiggle enough that she falls onto the floor.

There is little oxygen in the plane- half of it was sucked out. After that much work, she feels like she needs to pant, but there isn’t enough air left to try. 

She is sweating and shaking, but she can’t breathe- needs to breathe, but there isn’t enough air- isn’t enough anything. After all that, she’s going to die, because of a depressurized plane. This shit is getting worse and worse. 

By some stroke of luck, the broken window unbreaks. A sheath of glass, that had not been there before, retracts from the window frame. A backup that is probably installed into every window on this thing. Ironic that Hydra would take every safety precaution possible, on their bomber.

She hears a mechanical voice announcing “Autopilot engaged” and she hears heavy footsteps nearing her. She’s too busy sucking in air- now that it isn’t being sucked out of her lungs- to move. She doesn’t even try to stand, until there is a red hand grabbing hold of her neck, and shoving her against the wall. Her head cracks against metal, but she ignores the ache. She has to.

“You don’t give up? Do you?” Coal asks, without a hint of malice. He sounds calm, like he’s talking to her in a grocery store and not trying to choke her on a military grade airship.

“Nope.” Jack manages to force out, gleefully. She doesn’t waste a second more.

She forces her knee up, directly into Coal’s groin. The man stumbles back, dazed. Jack doesn’t hesitate, before throwing herself forward into his chest, and landing a punch that sends him stumbling back a few steps. It is a punch that, for a normal man, would send them flying across the room. For Coal, it is far less effective. He slides back about an inch, before steadying himself.

“This is an advanced ship, you know? We will be halfway across the world, within 15 minutes! Can you stop this in 15 minutes, Captain? Can you stop the inevitable?” Coal demands, through gritted teeth. It seems that all of his cool has been forced out of him, and that makes Jack very happy.

“No, but I can do this.”

She moves to kick him in the chest, but Coal is too fast for her. He grabs hold of her leg, and twists it- shoving her back towards the pilot’s seat. Now that he is expecting her fight, he is far more prepared for it. This is the last stand for both of them, Jack realizes. They are going to make it count.

She risks a glance towards the tail of the plane, and catches sight of a wall of blue. She doesn’t get a chance to question it, before there is a fist flying towards her sternum. She blocks it and parries with her own blow towards his face. It lands and on a normal person it would have shattered their nose. Coal doesn’t have one, so it just makes him stumble back a few feet.

As he recovers, she gets a better glance at the blue wall. It is a cube, roughly a foot in length and height, and surrounded by a transparent dome. It seems to let off sparks, every few seconds, that stretch across the room and light the plane with different shades of blue.

Instinctively, she knows that that is the root of her problems. If she can get rid of it, she can stop Coal, entirely. If she can just-

“I have seen a future, you know. A grand future, with no flags and no nations. A world, united under one leader.” Coal brags, stalling for time. Jack lets him, needing a moment to recover.

“Let me guess. That’s you.”

“Yes. But I have not seen you in that future. It is disappointing. You would have made a great second.” It seems that he is done with his stalling, because he is charging towards her again.

The move he makes is predictable, a jab to her skull, and she ducks the blow, with ease. She takes a moment to wonder how someone could make a move that obvious, even taking the time to stare at her face, before the blow. Coal grins, just as she realizes his plan. The punch was a feint, intended to drive her head down, so that he can drive his knee into her skull. It works.

There is a copper taste in her mouth, but not much else suffers damage. She bit down on her tongue, during the blow- nothing more. There is a sharp pain, somewhere, but it all seems numb in comparison to the adrenaline that is flooding through her veins. He can’t hurt her. Here, on an enemy ship, carrying the rocket that could blow her city to smithereens, she is strong. There is no pain to be found, here.

She backs off and runs a hand over her bloodied jaw. Coal just assumes that she’s hurt. He follows, grinning a shark’s grin and laughing a hyena’s laugh.

Bastard.

“Do you want to know why I have not seen you in my future?” Coal asks.

“Because you’ll be sitting in a jail cell and I’ll be drinking on a beach in Australia?” Jack offers just to rile him up. It works, and his hyena laugh cuts off.

“No. It is because I adapt and I survive. I am sorry, Captain, but this is where you have to say goodbye.” His eyes are dark- emotionless. He takes no pleasure from this and that just makes it even worse. She doesn’t like that the bad guy likes her.

Jack’s back hits the end of the plane and she stops directly next to the blue cube. Coal glances at it, warily, even if he seems far too focused on her.

That wariness is his downfall. He has tipped his hands- played his cards in exactly the wrong way. Bringing this cube with them, letting her see it, and then showing his fear of it- it all shows that this cube is dangerous. This cube is exactly what Jack needs.

For most of Jack’s life, she was weaker. She was scrawny, pathetic, human in the worst way possible. She would lose every fight- every skirmish in every alley in Austin. She was weak, but in the most subtle way, she was smarter.

Today, equally matched against a madman, she maintains that, where he lacks it. It is that small advantage that hands her the victory.

Coal moves to sweep out her legs, and swings his own in a wide range to knock her down. She is too fast- grabs hold of the leg, and tugs him forward. He slips. His head cracks against the ground, and the bones visibly shift underneath the exposed muscle of his skull. His brief tumble gives Jack the break that she needs to put her newfound plan into action.

She rips the shield off of her back, tearing it’s straps in her haste to remove it. It doesn’t matter- the mission is almost over and she can repair it, after. She doesn’t hesitate, before she straightens her shield arm, and throws her only weapon at the blue cube that is resting only a few feet from her.

There is an explosion, bigger than any she’s seen before. It doesn’t burn and it doesn’t hurt, but the world explodes into blinding light, and all Jack can hear is screaming- her own or Coal’s, she can’t really tell.

Before the world settles, something is pushing her towards the cube. It’s strong- stronger than she is- and suddenly she realizes the danger that she is facing. She is standing only a foot away from a super weapon that rivals anything ever made. The first of its kind. If Jack touches it, she will die. Whether she knows this by instinct or by reasoning she isn’t sure. She just knows that she needs to get away.

So when Jack feels a hand pressing against her back, she reaches over her shoulders, bends down, and grabs hold of the hand. With one mighty heave, she pulls, and hauls it over her shoulder. Coal’s entire body comes with it, sailing over Jack’s head, and then falling- like a baby pigeon with an aborted attempt at flight. He lands on the cube.

There is no screaming- no burst of fire. There are no curses- no grand exclamations. For a man, who is never short on words, Coal never gets his last words.

Coal liked to say that they were gods. As it turns out, he was wrong. Gods don’t die.

The second he touches the cube, his body disintegrates into nothing. His face turns to dust, that burns away when it lands on the cube. His body is gone a second later.

The cube lets out another explosion, this time even worse than the last. For a second, Jack is blinded- blinking her eyes shut to shield them from this horrid light. The light that has, already, claimed countless lives. Gunerz is a part of it, now, too.

There are sparks exploding across the plane, flinging from the small cube to every little portion of the airship. It flicks against Jack’s skin, burning little lashes through her uniform and through her body. It tears wires, smashes metal, and dents and slashes at the hull of the plane.

Jack feels deaf- not even able to hear the crackle of electricity that she feels should accompany those bolts. Her fears, of losing one of her senses, are eradicated instantly, when she hears the words “Autopilot disengaged” ring from the control console.

For a moment, Jack is still, staring out at the world that seems to be frozen in place. Those words froze the world, and Jack already doesn’t want to unfreeze it. She has little experience with flying planes- only knows what she has picked up from watching Sorola and Caiti. It isn’t much.

Jack spits out a “Goodbye,” to the cube- to a body that is already gone, burnt away like a military boy who died, a little too young. Then, the illusion shatters, and Jack is running.

The plane keeps moving forward- apparently there was something keeping the plane moving even with autopilot disengaged. Otherwise, she would have already been falling out off the sky into the ground below.

A glance through the window proves that that is wrong. She would be falling into an ice block, off the coast of Siberia.

She sprints, and manages to reach the pilot’s seat, before autopilot manages to completely cease. She grabs hold of the controls- different from Sorola’s, but similar enough that it makes sense. The large stick is to drive. The plates at the bottom are the gas and brake. The smaller sticks are for other things. She can work with that.

She pulls up away from the ground. She would rather not die, because she happened to be sailing too close to a mountain, without her noticing. It would be hard in the middle of the ocean, but Jack hasn’t been having the best track record with luck. A mountain could sprout out of the ground, by some miracle, and impale  _ the Maw _  in the process. Jack doesn’t want to risk that.

A spark lands, a little too close to one of her hands, and she jerks away to avoid it. She can see, now, why the autopilot had disengaged. It must have been struck by one of the sparks, and short circuited. That’s the only explanation that makes sense, at least.

She toys around with the smaller controls, trying to figure out some way to land. Sadly, there doesn't seem to be an instructional booklet lying around. Apparently, Hydra doesn’t have pilot programs that involve giving trainees planes and expecting them to know how to fly. Funny, how that works.

She flicks one button, and immediately is stunned by a sudden influx of voices. She grins, suddenly, overjoyed by this discovery. She found the radio!

“Así que le dije a la chica que eres una puta zorra. ¿Y sabes lo que dijo? ‘Bueno, lo siento si eres padre me quiere. Tal vez debería haber traído a casa una novia fea!’” Spanish, that is definitely spanish. Jack doesn’t speak spanish. That isn’t going to work.

“Hi? Uh, english?” It’s a desperate bid, with little hope of a return, but she might as well try. It might work.

“Esperar. ¿Quién coño es esta puta?”

“That’s a no, then.” And Jack changes the channel.

The next one just says “Die Sicherheit muss gelingen. Er ist der Schlüssel zu unserer Herrschaft-”, and she doesn't give him the chance to continue, before changes the station.

She tries a few more times, and ends up speaking to six Russians, three more Germans, and one Indian. She tries with the Indian- India is still a British colony, it’s possible that they could speak English- but she just gets a load of words that she doesn’t understand. She changes stations, and hopes that that wasn’t her last chance.

She needs to contact someone- needs to come up with a game plan. She is an inexperienced pilot, flying a plane that is carrying a weapon of mass destruction and a weapon without any sort of classification. Jack is screwed.

Five minutes go by and Jack is still fiddling with the radio. She gets an Italian, once, and when she speaks, she hears screaming on the end of the line. She moves on to an American channel and she is excited, before she realizes that it’s a sports channel, and the Dodgers just beat the Phillies by four points. She changes it to a man from Poland, who speaks just enough broken English to have a conversation about the radios. He explains how to use it- how to search for the right signal. He can’t help her, but that is enough as is. Jack thanks him, and the man just thanks her for being one of the good guys.

She remembers the Allied frequency, and manages to fiddle with the radio, until she finds one that seems like it is close enough to the one that she knows. Hopefully, they are paying close attention to any transmissions.

“This is Captain Jack Pattillo requesting immediate assistance from General Hullum,” Jack reports. Then, on impulse, she says “Over.”

“We’re reading you loud and clear, Captain,” The voice is smooth- American. Confident in a way that only a soldier can be. Jack has the right people and she doesn’t even hold back her relieved sigh. “What is your current location? Over.”

“I don’t know. I’m kind of flying in the middle of nowhere in a bomber with a super weapon in the backseat. I’m a little distracted, Over.”

A pause. “I’ll send for General Hullum.”

Hullum wasn’t very far away, because it isn’t long after that his voice rings through the radio. It’s almost strange- how quickly he arrived.

“Captain Star Spangled? Do you copy? Over.”

“I copy. I copy loud and clear. Over.”

“Do you have a report? Was your mission successful? We haven’t heard from your team. Over.” Hullum says, always too focused on the mission, and not enough on the present. As much as Jack hates that they haven’t heard from her team, she has the lives of thousands locked away in a damaged plane. That was more important than the lives of three men, as much as she hates to think so. 

“Gunerz is dead.”

“Is Coal?” Hullum asks, before she can even say ‘Over.’

“Yeah. Coal is dead,” On the other end of the line, she hears cheering- loud and excited cries. They shouldn’t be celebrating- couldn’t be celebrating. Coal is dead, but the mission isn’t over. Coal is dead, but good people died along the way. Coal is dead, but more people could die at any second, if Jack fucks this up. “I have the source of the guns and a bomb with me.”

“Where are you?”

“You tell me. It’s not that easy to learn all of this plane stuff as I’m flying.” She sounds cool, angry, but it reflects what she’s feeling. She’s furious. Angry that they are celebrating, while good men are dead. Angry that Coal didn’t suffer through death, like Ryan had to have. Angry that it still isn’t over, but they are celebrating. She’s furious, and she isn’t even trying to hide that.

“You’re what?”

“You have the Source Block?” A new voice- Sorola, Jack recognizes after a few seconds- asks. He sounds urgent, in a way that the rest of them doesn’t sound.

“The blue thingy?” Is that what it is called? Coal called it a tesseract. Is it really called a Source Block?

“Yeah, the blue thing,” she can practically hear Sorola roll his eyes. “You have it?”

“It’s with me,” a spark lands by Jack’s foot, and she kicks away from it. “It’s trying it’s damned hardest to take me down, though.”

She hears someone, over the line. It’s female, Australian- Caiti, and she sounds urgent, in the same way that Sorola does. Jack can’t make her out, over the numerous other words and voices, but she is clearly there.

“Jack,” Sorola says, using a name that Jack hasn’t heard in weeks. It’s usually ‘Cap, this’ and ‘Cap, that’. ‘Jack’ is the name that Ryan and Caiti used, before Ryan fell and Jack forced herself into isolation. She doesn’t like that he’s using it. “We need your coordinates.”

“Why?” Can’t she just land somewhere, and then send them? Why do they need them, while she’s flying? She has already demonstrated an inability to multitask. They should know that she can’t read off her coordinates, now.

“Just send them to us. It’s important. We need that Source Block.”

Or maybe, they don’t care. They don’t care about individual casualties. They care about the wars- not the battles. They don’t care about Gunerz, because he was one soldier. They sent C Team off, after Ryan was gone, because he was an individual and, to them, he didn’t matter.

Right now, Jack doesn’t matter, and there has to be a reason why. Why they are so urgent, when there is no one following her. Why she hears Sorola’s voice crack on his order. Why she can hear Caiti, yelling something over the others.

The answer is right there, right in the back of the plane.

“You want to use it, don’t you?” It makes sense. America had been at a disadvantage from the start- firing with bullets, instead of lasers. Bullets can run out. Lasers can’t. Lasers are more destructive. They want this ‘Source Block’. They want to use it to batter down their enemies, and blow holes in their defense.

That doesn’t seem so bad from a soldier’s point of view, but for the world, it is. Too much power in the army’s hand. If they have the power of a god and a force to back it up, they’ll be unstoppable. They won’t stop at defeating Germany- America has never been able to give up. They’ll use it to conquer Japan, to destroy Italy, to demolish what remains of Germany.

No world power has ever been able to stop. They’ll keep going, like Britain during it’s golden age. They will conquer the Middle East, and take down Europe. They’ll strangle India and collapse Poland. Africa will be easy pickings, and an Asia in disarray will come next. South America, poor as it is, will be delivered to them in a handbasket.

The Source Block isn’t just power for a gun. It’s for bombs, powerful enough to level cities, if Coal was right. It’s for conquering, for creating Hydra’s new world order, where there are no flags, no nations, and no freedom, either.

She can tell- just by Sorola’s shaky voice, and Hullum’s excited chatter that this is their plan. So far, with only a few pieces of the Source Block, they have created unrivaled explosions. With the full cube, they can destroy the world.

“Is there a problem with that?” Sorola sounds apprehensive. He doesn’t get the point. He doesn’t see what she can. God, no one does, do they?

“Gus.” The first time she has ever used his name. She feels like throwing up.

“Jack, just send us the coordinates.” It’s Caiti, now. They’ve finally allowed her onto the speaker, now that they know that Jack is onto their scheme. It’s supposed to tip her back to their side to have a friend trying to force her their way. It just tips her even further towards the other end of the fence. How dare they use her friends against her?

“I’m sorry,” she says. Genuinely, she is. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Jack, we’re trying to help you!” She sounds genuine, too, and Jack doesn’t doubt that she is. Does she know?

Wars don’t end with treaties. Wars end with surrender. That’s what they want. Complete and absolute surrender, to every last one of their demands, even if that means that the losers must give everything away in the process. Jack can’t let that happen, again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, again. “No one deserves a weapon like this.”

She hears Hullum curse, under his breath, and she knows that her suspicions were right. They want the weapon, not peace.

“It’s not about the fucking block, I swear! Just send us the coordinates, and we can rescue you! You don’t know how to fly, Jack!” She’s right. Jack can get herself killed, if she tries to land this without help. But Jack has never been one for caution.

Maybe she’s paranoid, but it all makes sense. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

Jack looks down, at the icy waters, and instantly knows that any plan to hide the Source Block will lead to the same result. Failure.

She doesn’t mind. One death isn’t nearly equivalent to the deaths that Sorola would cause, if he had control of the most chaotic and powerful weapon in the world.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Caiti,” Jack really, really is sorry. She doesn’t deserve this, but there is no other way. Jack can’t hide the Source Block- can’t just shield it from the world. This way, they won’t even know where to start looking. “But, hey, when I get back, we can talk about a new career path.”

“What?” She still doesn’t understand why Jack isn’t giving up the information. She’s not evil. She’s not stupid- Jack knows her enough to get that. She just doesn’t want to understand. She’s risked her life for the military, countless times. It’s disastrous, when a thing that you’ve wasted your life on isn’t perfect. No wonder she would pretend.

Jack wants to, as well, but Hullum’s voice comes back, frantic and angry at the same time. “Jack, give us the coordinates, now, or I swear I will have you court-martialed. That weapon is S.W.O.R.D. property.” And there it is. Proof.

“I’ll see you again, soon, Caiti.”

Jack plunges down on the stick- the only plan she has.

She was never the good guy, was she?

\---

There is something soft wrapping around Jack’s chest. Something warm and comforting, as opposed to the cold and constricting feeling of her uniform. She isn’t used to comfort. She’s used to sleeping on dirt or on metal barracks. This is strange, unfamiliar, and she doesn’t like it.

She opens her eyes, and is met with a bright light shining directly onto her face. She winces. She holds up her arm to try to shield herself from the unbearable glow, but it manages to peek through her fingers and burn her pupils, all the same.

There’s a low chatter, on the edge of Jack’s awareness, going on about a baseball game between the Dodgers and the Phillies. The score is four to four, but wait! The Dodgers have called up Reiser, and we’re waiting on the pitch. Oh, my, it’s a home run! Four Dodgers on the field, ready to pull together four points, here! The Dodgers have an eight-four lead on the Phillies, now! Everyone is on their feet- what a game- what a game, we have here, folks!

When Jack sits up, still shutting her eyes to avoid the blinding light, there is a low creak. She forces herself to stare at the source of the noise. It’s a nurse- a small woman with a pretty smile and perfectly put together hair. She looks too clean, too manufactured. Like she was made to be the perfect lady. Jack doesn’t trust anyone who’s perfect.

“Good morning,” The lady says, with her too-perfect smile. “Or should I say afternoon?”

“Where am I?” Jack asks, glancing around the white room. There is nothing here, but a radio, a bed, and a window. It’s too empty to be someone’s house. It’s too empty to be a hospital room. So, where is she?

“You’re in a recovery room in Austin Texas.” It doesn’t smell like Austin, with its clean air and cedar trees. It smells more urban, unfamiliar.

Nothing about this makes sense.

“Where am I, really?” Jack asks, forcefully. The nurse blinks.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“There’s a live feed of a game that finished ten minutes before I crashed into the ice,” Jack glances around the room. “Now, I don’t know how long it took you to rescue me, but I’m fairly certain there wasn’t time travel involved.” The nurse stares at her. “So, I’ll ask again. Where am I?”

“Captain-” But Jack doesn’t want to hear anymore of this woman’s bullshit. She’s tired, she’s angry, she’s confused, and she’s a super soldier. She isn’t going to sit here to wait for answers. She’s going to find them herself.

She runs, past the nurse, and past her orderlies. She hears screams of “Code 13!” and she watches orderlies rush to capture her. She ignores them, shoving past the scrawny women and the muscular men, and she keeps running. She runs until she reaches the door, and she breaks through that with her elbow. She’s sick of being lied to- learned her lesson from S.W.O.R.D.. Don’t trust people who are paid to hide things, and all of these people were paid to hide something.

She runs into the street, and freezes when she stumbles onto the road. There are vehicles- different from the ones that she knows. They are rounder, and smoother, and they don’t emit nearly as much smoke. 

There are people- healthy men and healthy women- roaming the street, and isn’t that a strange sight? All of the healthy men should be in Germany. All of the healthy women should be in the factories or in the field as nurses. There are lights in the middle of the street and buildings that she has never seen before. There are less cedar trees. It’s less farmland and more urban, and Jack can barely recognize it.

Even the sky looks different- the sun dimmer than it ever used to be. She has lived in Austin all her life, but the sun never looked that dull. It was always bright, shining down on Texas, like a flame and not some common lamp.

She glances to the side, and sees a man with curly hair and an eyepatch that looks a little too tight. His visible eye is narrowed, but he doesn’t seem like much of a threat. Neither does the man next to him. Non-Eyepatch has a bow, aimed directly at Jack, and the string is completely pulled back. Even his ridiculous golden sunglasses can’t distract Jack from the threat. If the first man isn’t dangerous, the second man definitely is.

Jack barely has time to wonder why a man in the 20th century has a bow and arrows, before the curly haired man is whispering something to the second. The archer sighs, and carefully removes his arrow from the string of his weapon. He replaces it into the quiver in his back, and scowls.

“Sorry about that, whole shebang, Cap. We thought it’d be easier if we weaned you onto it, but I guess you weren’t all that into that.” The curly haired man- the leader- says. The archer snorts.

“Wean me onto what?” What happened to Austin? Who are these people? Why does the second man have a bow? What the hell is going on?

“The idea that you’ve been frozen, off the coast of Russia for the past 70-ish years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copy and pasting that was hell.  
> Also RIP in peace (x2)


	4. Phase Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, so I’m posting this early. Yes, this is my version of an after credit scene.
> 
> Fun fact- None of this is fun and I am sorry.

**70 years previously**

His arm feels heavy.

Of all the possible things that he could have thought that was it. He’s awake, confused, afraid, his arm feels heavy, and his head feels like it’s been run over by a truck. He glances down at two shackled arms- one made of something silver and the other made of flesh. He doesn’t understand the difference, just has some vague understanding that the silver one is better. The silver one has always been better. It can handle more- can do more. The silver is good and the flesh is bad. No, not bad. It’s just worse.

Within seconds of being alive, he knows that his right is stronger than his left. His left can be hurt. His right is invincible. He can do anything with that. That makes him invincible, too.

There are three men, watching him, but he doesn’t care enough to scare them away. He doesn’t mind their presence, but he doesn’t like it, either. It’s eerie to be watched, but he doesn’t care enough to think about it. To him, these are just spectators to witness these first few thoughts. To witness his realization that right is better than left, and right can crush left if it chooses to.

Everything is far too simple, but he doesn’t mind that, either.

There is something crushed between his teeth, but he doesn’t bother to spit it out. It’s uncomfortable, but it isn’t hurting him, so he feels no need to remove it. Besides, both of his hands are shackled. There is no point in trying to take it out, if he stands no chance.

One of the men stands up, and approaches him. He takes one look at the captive, and tilts his head. He opens his mouth, says something to the others, that the shackled man doesn’t care to listen to. Then, the free man starts to speak to him, and it is then that he listens.

“Do you know who I am?” The free man asks. A shake of the shackled man’s head answers that. “Do you know who you are?” Another shake. “Would you like to?” This time, there is no response. Just two lazy eyes tracking his every move. 

“Is that bad?” That is one of the other men, who are just watching impassively. The shackled man doesn’t pay much attention to them.

“He should be responding to me,” the free man sounds annoyed and that isn’t good. Something in him says that isn’t good. “Would you like to know who you are?” Again, the shackled man just stays still, unsure of how to voice the fact that he doesn’t care.

The free man lifts his hand, and balls it into a fist. It lands on the shackled man’s face moments later. There is no room to move- no room to roll with the blow, so he just let's it bounce off his head. It hurts, but not nearly as bad as he feels that it should. It doesn’t sting, afterwards, doesn’t hurt at all, actually. He just feels numb. The free man’s hits are weak. He can hit stronger, but there is still that growing pit of apathy in his chest.

“Answer my question." The free man says.

“Yes, sir.”

The free man grins. “You’re our soldier, and you’re going to do some great work for us.”


	5. 21st Century Breakdown

There are no windows in this car. No way to catch a glimpse at a world that didn’t exist, yesterday. Was it even yesterday? Yesterday, when it was 1945 and Jack was crashing into icy waters off the coast of Siberia. Or was it 70 years ago, when the World War was ending, and even hiding the Source Block couldn’t stop super weapons.

That’s what they’ve told her, at least. She doesn’t really know what is lie, and what is truth. They’ve given her a brief run through history- Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the Cold War, and the points where it turned hot, communist China, terrorism, Iron Man, Mogar, too many wars, the formation of a strange collections of heroes- both super and not- and the Hulk. It’s a lot to take in and she can’t even tell where they’re lying to her. It’s unnerving, to say the least.

They’re driving her to a new compound- their home base, they’d explained. The leader, the man with the trenchcoat, is driving, and no matter how much the archer had complained, they left him with Jack, in the back. Jack doesn’t really pity him, all that much.

“So, you’re supposed to be that Captain America guy?” The archer says. His accent isn’t anything that Jack’s used to hearing, but she can still place it. The British accent has changed, a little, in the last 70 years.

“Yeah,” he seems like he’s trying to be, at least slightly welcoming, and Jack has a few questions, so why not ask them. “You guys are S.W.O.R.D.?”

“Kind of- not really, though. We’re called ‘S.H.I.E.L.D.’, now.” He doesn’t go any further into his explanation, just rubs the bandage that’s running along the bridge of his nose and toys the arrow in his hand.

“Why?”

“There was some scandal. It was some sausaging thing, but they cleared it all up.” The archer knicks his finger, and winces. He doesn’t do anything about it, just wipes the blood off of the arrow, and goes back to toying with it.

Jack doesn’t bother to ask what the word ‘sausaging’ means, because she doubts that that is the most important thing to know about this debacle. She can ask that, later.

“Why S.H.I.E.L.D.? What’s that stand for?”

“Ask Pubert. No one else cares enough to remember.” Jack doesn’t bother to ask who this Pubert is. There isn’t going to be a suitable answer, until she meets them.

“So, who are you?” Jack asks. The archer doesn’t respond. He just pulls something out of his pocket- a rectangle, with a sheet of glass over it’s face. The archer leaves his arrow on his lap, next to his bow, so that he can focus on whatever information the rectangle has to share.

After a minute, or so, the rectangle dings, a loud resounding click, and the archer glances down at it. He reads the screen for a second, before glancing back up at Jack and sighing.

“I’m Gavin. Gavin Free,” the rectangle dings, again, and the archer sighs. “I’m also known as Hawkeye,” under his breath, he lets out a “Thanks, Burns.”

“What is that?” Jack doesn’t really care about his name or codename. She can figure out his significance, later. For now, she would rather question the things that are important. Like that dinging device in his hand.

“What, this?” Gavin holds up the rectangle, with a perplexed expression on his face. Like someone from the 1940s is supposed to understand 21st century technology. He is probably just an idiot, so Jack doesn’t pay him much mind. Most bodyguards are idiots, in her experience. “It’s a phone.”

“Phones aren’t that small.”

“They are, now.” It’s a finitive statement, so Jack lets the conversation die. Gavin isn’t exactly the most conversational of people, it seems. Best to let this conversation die, to start another that might be more lucrative.

"What's with the bow? I thought I went into the future?" She didn't expect the world to resort back to bows in the place of guns. In her experience, gun always trumps bow, and lasers trump both. They shouldn’t have government agents playing with medieval weaponry.

"You went back to the Paleolithic area, actually. Humanity works in a loop." He has his hand set over the bow, almost protectively, as if he's offended that Jack would mention his choice of weaponry.

"Weird way to phrase it, but alright." Jack says, not wanting to offend one of the only people she's seen since the crash. Maybe humanity does work in a loop, and went from atomic bombs to bows and arrows. It’s possible, if extremely unlikely.

"In all seriousness, I'm the best archer in the world! That's why I do it." Pride draws a grin on his face. “I’ve never missed a target in my life!”

“What about when you first started? You had to have missed, then.”

“What about when you were a scrawny little bitch? You couldn’t hold your shield, then, but they say you’re great with it, now.” Gavin says, grin apparent on his face. To him, his response completely countered anything she said against him.

Yes, he is probably just an idiot.

“I never said I’ve never missed a throw.”

“Fine,” Gavin rolls his eyes, like she’s annoying him, and turns to stare out of the singular window. He doesn’t seem to care about this conversation, much. They’ve barely spent five minutes in this car, together, and Jack already wants to hit him. “I haven’t missed a shot in the past 20 years.” For a man who barely even looks 20, Jack doubts that.

“How old are you?”

“27.” His pride is getting the best of him, because that has to be classified information. For an organization, in which Gavin had to ask someone if he could tell her his  _ name _ , his age is probably beyond classified.

“So, you haven’t missed a shot, since you were seven?” Jack asks, with absolute disbelief. Seven year olds miss. No one can be a perfect shot at seven years old.

“Like I said,” The truck halts to a stop, and Gavin stashes his arrow into its quiver, along with 23 others. He doesn’t glance out the window, doesn’t have to check if the door is open. He’s bragging, showing how smart he is, when Jack knows that thirty seconds ago, he was glancing out the window- memorizing the area. Showoff. “I’m the best.”

“So, why are you here, again?” Jack asks, as they wait for the leader to open the back door. Gavin glances at her, eyes narrowed, before nonchalantly shrugging.

“Do you ever wonder?” And then, when Jack doesn’t get the reference, he continues. “Why we’re here?”

“Yeah, I kind of just did. Why are you here? You don’t exactly seem to be S.W.O.R.D.’s type.” But even as she says it, she knows that she’s wrong. He’s scrawny, smug, and good at his job. Those are qualities that all of the members of S.W.O.R.D. seem to exemplify.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” The archer says, annoyed. “And according to the profiles of Captain Jack Pattillo and Sergeant Kerbal Gunerz, I’m definitely S.H.I.E.L.D.’s type.”

Gunerz. With all the chaos, of waking up 70 years too late, Jack had forgotten about Gunerz. The boy, dead on his feet, before even his body was vaporized. The boy, who they couldn’t even bring back home to honor him. The boy with no coffin, but instead a scorch mark on the floor.

70 years ago, Gunerz had died, and Jack couldn’t save him. Couldn’t even honor him, at his funeral. She was too frozen to care.

Hell, she does not even know. He might have been given a coffin and a tombstone and a memorial that is larger than the Statue of Liberty, and she just  _ doesn’t know _ .

“Sergeant?” She says, softly. He was still a Private, when he died.

“He was promoted, a few years after the scandal. Your whole team was. Even you. You’re Colonel America, now.” He sounds amused, and Jack wants to hit him.

The leader is taking too damn long.

“And what are you?” There are a thousand questions to ask, but that seems most important, right now.

“The slags don’t bother to give me much of a rank. I’m just Hawkeye.” Gavin sounds annoyed, at that, but he doesn’t dwell on it for too long. 

Jack is just confused as to what a ‘slag’ is. Is part of some new class of slang that Jack doesn’t know about? Is it commonplace, or abnormal? The 21st century is strange, now.

“So, wait, let’s go back to the Gunerz thing,” Jack says, now that she knows that her question of rank won’t be answered. “Was he alive?” There is not much hope, but there is a chance, and she will take any chance she gets.

“It was an honorary promotion. None of your team lived.” He’s flippant, apathetic. Like Jack’s team meant nothing at all.

“What?”

They didn’t make it out of the compound? Did she leave them to die? She slept for 70 years, and the only living member of C Team was Caiti- who hadn’t even been on that mission, at all? Caiti, who had been stuck in Germany, with Hullum and Sorola, listening to their lies and begging Jack, and listening as Jack ‘died’? Caiti died?

“They were shipped out, after the war was over. Three weeks later, that Shadles guy got hit by a car. Little while after, Bragg had a bit of a spat with a plane. I heard Dooley got hold of a gun, after. They found him in his backyard.” The flippancy is about to drive Jack mad. He’s describing the deaths of her closest friends, and he just sounds so apathetic about it. It’s nothing at all, to him, nothing but a damn story! 

Just hearing the words ‘that Shadles guy’ is making her blood boil, from his flagrant disrespect. Shadles was a hero- they all were. They should all be respected, even more so than ‘Colonel’ Jack Pattillo. She, at least, survived the war. They all died and never got the chance to live their lives.

Ryan is dead. Gunerz is dead. Shadles is dead. Bragg is dead. Dooley is dead.

Is there anyone who isn’t?

“What about Caiti?”

“The General? I think they put her in a home. Her head’s been going all whammy,” With her, he seems a little less uncaring, and slightly more sympathetic. Like she wasn’t just another name, to him- like she was someone that actually mattered, instead of a tombstone. “She’s good. Good woman.”

“Did you know her?”

“I know you did. What was she like, then? Hardass or Burns-level?” He’s deflecting, and Jack almost wants to call him out on it, but if she does, he won’t give her any other answers. So far, she’s learning a lot. She can’t give that up due to personal issues.

“Who’s Burns?” He’d mentioned him before, on his telephone. He’s obviously some sort of superior figure, as he had been giving Gavin orders, but Jack doesn’t really trust that. There’s a lot of things at play, here, that she doesn’t understand completely. She hasn’t been given the chance to.

“You know the guy with an eyepatch?” Jack nods. “That’s him. Burnie Burns, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Surprisingly big fan of cats.” Jack doesn’t respect either man enough to ask for more information.

“Oh. Caiti was, uh, she wasn’t really that bad. She punched people in the face for insulting me, when I was, uh-” Jack pauses, to search for the word. When she was scrawny? Weak? Pathetic?

“Little?” Gavin offers, placing his palm in front of his waistline, to visualise exactly how tall (or small) Jack was, before the serum. And okay, she wasn’t that small!

“Yeah, little. Not exactly what I was going for, but ok.” Jack mutters.

“She wasn’t even in charge, then, was she? She only got the power after the scandal, right?”

“What scandal?” He’d mentioned it before, and now she needs to know. This is important- necessary. As one of the first field commanders of S.W.O.R.D., this is her legacy. She needs to know what ruined that.

“Something about a General and Ramsey’s dad. They were involved in some experiments, that blew up half of Germany. They're still whining about it."

So, she was right. They were, actually, going to attempt to use the Source Block for warfare. She was going to take it out of the hands of one evil and put it in another.

Jack made the right decision.

"Ramsey's the Hulk, right?" The history still isn't completely clear. She's learned most of it in the 20 minutes that it took the car to arrive, and it still hasn't sunken in. The information is there, but it's all muddled together. Narvaez could be Mogar, for all she knows. Or is Mogar just Mogar?

"Ramsey's Iron Man. He's the guy that blew up half of Austin." So that leaves Narvaez to be the Hulk, and Mogar to be Mogar.

"Didn't the Hulk blow up half of Austin, too?" Jack asks, still a little confused about all of this.

"No. He smashed it," Gavin says, placing emphasis on the smashing. "There's a big difference, trust me."

"So Mogar smashes it?"

"No, Mogar hits it. He's got a sword- claims that only he can use it. It's a load of crap, if you ask me. He just wants to look cool," He sounds personally affronted by this, like Mogar has insulted him by saying that he can't use it. "Says he's more worthy than us. Like we're just dogs dinner."

"So, if Ramsey blows up, Narvaez smashes, and Mogar hits, what do you do?"

"I shoot. Best in the world, remember?"

“I’m still doubting if that’s true.” Jack says. The archer takes a step back, appalled, like her disbelief affects him in any way. If he really is so great, he shouldn’t give a damn if a woman from the 1940’s doubts his skills. He should already be confident enough that he doesn’t have to work about her opinions.

Before he can argue with her, any further, he is interrupted by the man that they’re waiting for. The back door to the van swings open, letting in a cool gust of wind. Jack moves before Gavin even has the chance to. She’s practically rushing out of the truck, towards slightly warmer air. After 70 years submerged in ice, Jack doesn’t want to feel anything cold.

“Sorry about the wait,” Burns says, still holding onto one of the doors. He’s surrounded by three men, all carrying guns. Jack just appreciates that they’re not using weapons from the Paleolithic Era. “I wanted to grab these guys, before we head in.”

“Why? Do you think I’m dangerous?” Jack asks, feeling a little too confrontational. She’s in an unknown area, surrounded by unknown people, in an unknown time. She has every right to be suspicious of the people that she comes across, in this world of unknowns.

“Not you. You’re not the only special guest we have in, today. We’ve got a few, actually.” Burns explains. He’s still holding onto the door, because Gavin hasn’t even left the truck, yet. For the ‘best archer in the world’ he isn’t exactly the fastest man alive.

“So all of your best players came on the same day?”

“What can I say? They’re all very excited to meet the world’s first superhero.”

\---

Geoff Ramsey, to put it simply, is a drunk. He is an overly-tattooed, overly-rich drunk, who lacked any sense of responsibility for the first 30 years of his life. His only redeeming qualities are his intelligence and a black and green suit of armor. Even then, they don’t make up for his other qualities.

He’s drunk, when he meets Jack- she can smell it in his breath. Even a metal suit can’t hide the smell of alcohol, when his helmet is off and he’s gazing at Jack, like she’s a trophy that he’s finally earned. To him, she probably is. She’s just another experiment for a rich man to toy with. She can see it in his eyes, wide and hungry for information that only she has, hidden somewhere in her veins.

Except, he isn’t Heyman. He’s Sorola and Hullum, just using her for personal gains- for power. Ramsey isn’t hungry for information on how to save the world. Drunks always want to control it.

Or maybe, Jack is just paranoid, and a drunk is just excited to meet a super soldier.

“Geoff Ramsey. You can call me Geoff,” Ramsey holds out his hand, still trapped in its metal casing. Jack almost doesn’t want to touch it- Gavin had warned her about what those hands can do- but eventually, she forces herself to grab his hand and shake. “It’s good to meet you, Captain Jack.”

“And you’re Iron Man.” Jack says, though she doesn’t really need the confirmation. The suit is a good enough indicator of that.

“And you’re Captain America. I’ve been waiting for a while, to meet you,” he’s grinning, widely. He doesn’t sound drunk, even if he smells like he’s been drowning in a barrel of beer, for the past few hours. If he is sober, then he has a higher tolerance than even Jack has, and that’s saying something. “How’s the 21st century treating you?”

“I don’t know,” Jack says, honestly. “I haven’t been here for long.”

“Well, don’t worry. It’s not too hard to get used to. We’ll keep you up to date on everything that’s happened in the past few years.”

“They already have. Cold War, atomic bombs, Cuban Missile Crisis, all of that. I’ve been briefed.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ramsey says, like she has challenged him. “What about Woodstock?”

“What?” They didn’t mention that.

“We landed on the moon.” Ramsey grins, when Jack’s eyes get wide.

“We did what?” Burns and Gavin didn’t mention that. She’d heard nothing about any space expeditions. They only told her about war, after war, after debilitating war. She hadn’t heard anything about humanity _landing on the moon_!

“Yep! Britain’s not an empire, anymore, either,” his voice gets quieter, and he steps closer to her. “Don’t tell Gavin that or he’ll bitch for an hour. He’s in denial.”

“What else did I miss? Is there life on Mars?”

Before Ramsey can enlighten her on any other future-past events, the door to their little meeting room slides open, without anyone ever having to touch it. Apparently, Coal’s technology has been adopted by the future.

There is a woman standing in the door, with red hair and a black uniform. Her eyes are set, locked onto Jack, from the minute she steps into the room. She’s smiling, a small smile that barely reaches the edge of her lips. She opens her mouth to speak, and Jack notices that one of her teeth is slightly whiter than the others.

“Captain America,” she says, by way of greeting. She holds out her hand, and Jack takes it, instantly. There’s something about this woman that commands respect, in a way that Gavin and Ramsey don’t. “It’s pretty cool to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and your team!” She’s a little too welcoming, for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

“Lindsay Jones,” Ramsey says, introducing the woman. Jones doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps staring at Jack, like Ramsey does, like she’s something to be marveled at- an experiment, or a toy, or a tool. “She’s also known as the Black Widow. She’s also someone who needs to stop trying to kill me!” His voice cracks, and Jones laughs.

“I already made it clear that that was an accident.”

“Maybe, the first time! On the third time, not-so-much!”

Jones seems to notice Jack’s perplexed expression, because she gives her a light grin and shrugs. “Long story.”

“Long story, my ass! You tried to shoot me three times!” His voice cracks, again, and Jack wonders how Iron Man sounds more like a prepubescent teenager, than an actual adult. Isn’t he supposed to be a superhero?

“I was aiming for the Corpirate.”

“You were aiming for my head!”

“If I was aiming for your head, I could have just shot you right now,” there’s a pause, that lets Ramsey shift, awkwardly, from one leg to the other. “But I didn’t, so you’re fine!” She sounds a little too excited, about that.

“So, do you work with Gavin? You never miss- he never misses. You’d make a good pair.” Jack offers, just to be a part of the conversation. There’s a pause, and then Lindsay is grinning. She seems to do that, a lot.

“You’re not wrong, but you’re not right.” She doesn’t seem to intend to continue with that answer.

“Why? You two break off, or something?”

“No. We are a team, but we’re a terrible team. He’s dumb and I’m amaze-balls. See the problem?” Not really, but Jack nods, as if she does.

“Where is Gavin?” Ramsey asks, glancing across the room. He looks dissatisfied, when he doesn’t spot the British archer.

“Where’s Gavin ever? In his vents or in his nest.” Lindsay says, eyes rolling. Jack can’t tell if they think of Gavin with contempt or with mocking contempt. Either way, he doesn’t seem to be the straight man of this group.

“I know a good way to check.” The mischievous grin on Ramsey’s face spells out dangerous things for Gavin’s future.

\---

“So, maybe lighting the vents on fire wasn’t a good idea.”

There is smoke filing out of the ceiling, and Lindsay is the only one with her shirt wrapped over her mouth. Geoff has his helmet on, filtering clean air through, in place of smoke, and Jack has enough of an enhanced respiratory system, that it barely bothers her at all. Lindsay, on the other hand, would probably shoot Geoff, if she wasn’t too busy coughing out her lungs.

“Maybe not.” Jack agrees, sarcastically. 

She pats Lindsay’s back, softly- doesn’t hurt her, like her friendly punch hurt Ryan. She freezes, realizes that she hasn’t thought about that, since she woke up. That’s not good- that’s not good, at all. Even in the chaos, of waking up 70 years, too late, she should have thought about the vent. Not just that he is dead, but _how_. How it’s her fault, how he fell and fell and fell.

She peels herself away from Lindsay, suddenly nervous to touch her. She hasn’t known this woman for more than five minutes, but she already likes her. She doesn’t want her to end up like Ryan did- dead at the bottom of a canyon. Wants to get to know her, by her personalities, not by her screams as she falls.

“Hey, you okay?” Ramsey asks. For a second, Jack thinks he’s addressing Lindsay, but his eyes are locked onto Jack.

“I’m fine,” Jack lies. “Shouldn’t you be asking Lindsay?”

“Trust me, she’s dealt with worse, before,” his voice is distant, echoing through his helmet. “Usually, because of Gavin.”

Between coughs, Lindsay sputters out a “Always because of Gavin.”

So, Gavin is the fool of the crew, Burns is the leader, Geoff is the richman, and Lindsay is the tough one. Now, Jack just has to figure out where Narvaez and Mogar fit into this mix. They have to, don’t they? The heroes have to mix together, somehow. The way that Geoff, Gavin, Lindsay, and Burns all came to meet Jack doesn’t imply distance between the heroes. Apparently, they are close, and they intend for her to be, too.

Well, Jack will have to watch them, some more, to figure out if she even wants to be close to them. She doesn’t know their motivations, their histories, or even what makes them important. She knows that Burns is a leader, Gavin is an archer, and Geoff has an iron suit, but she knows nothing else about them. She’ll have to reserve her judgement, until she’s at least slightly familiar with them.

Some part of her brain tells her that she wouldn’t have been this hesitant before Ryan fell. She was always open, excited, joking with Dooley and making conversation with prisoners like Gunerz. She’d been likeable enough that Heyman had clung to her- chosen her for the program, when anyone else would have been better suited for it.

Another part of her brain, that she hates even more, just says that they’re all dead, so who cares, anymore?

When the smoke clears and Lindsay stops coughing, Geoff forces them forward, away from the broken ventilation shaft, and through one of the many hallways in this compound.

The halls bring back uncomfortable memories, of being cornered in a Hydra base, and having to run away. Knowing that Ryan died a long time ago, and now Gunerz is just as dead, and her three remaining teammates might join them. Or even before that, when they were wandering through the halls, and Gunerz was alive, and the were pointing their guns into every room.

At least, here, they pass by people in the hallways. At least the walls aren’t decorated with skinless faces. At least the offices aren’t empty.

If Geoff or Lindsay notice her discomfort, they don’t bother to mention it. They have to know why she isn’t happy, here. Geoff is supposed to be one of the smartest men in the world. There’s no way that he hasn’t read anything about Jack. Lindsay, too, should have read her file, if she is supposed to be something important, here. If Gavin, the fool, read about Gunerz, then Lindsay should know everything else.

“So,” Geoff asks, to break the overwhelming silence. “Where’s your shield, Cap?”

“What?”

“Where’s your shield? I heard you’re big about that thing, so where is it? Don’t you usually keep it strapped to your dick or something?”

“I don’t know. Why’re you asking?”

“I’m just trying to help you, here! What’s a Captain, without her shield?”

“What’s Iron Man without his iron?” Jack retorts. She notices Lindsay nod, out of either agreement or confusion, like she doesn’t understand the comparison. Captain America can still exist, without her shield. Iron Man can’t exist without his suit.

“First of all, it’s vibranium. Iron melts at too low of a temperature,” Jack doesn’t know enough about metals to determine exactly what temperature that is, but she can guess that it is very high. “Second of all, I’m worth a lot more than a Captain America, without a shield. I have a lot of money to wipe my ass with. You’ve got a very patriotic uniform. Little bit of a difference, there.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong.” Lindsay shrugs, completely betraying Jack’s trust. Jack would probably be offended, if she knew anything about Lindsay, other than her name.

“I can probably beat him to death, if I wanted.” Jack says, just to regain her lost honor. It doesn’t work- just gets Lindsay rolling her eyes, and Geoff smugly grinning.

“But you don’t, because I’m the guy, who just saved your life.” Geoff says, sounding absolutely honest. 

“That was you?” That was information Jack hadn’t known before. Geoff pulled her out of the ice?

“Well, technically, Agent Pubert did it, but I funded the rescue, so I deserve some of the credit.” While there are a lot of things to focus on, in that sentence, there is one thing that Jack notices, specifically.

“Agent Pubert?” She says, disbelief apparent. “What kind of a name is Pubert?”

“That’s what I said!” The billionaire exclaims. “His mother must have hated him!”

The conversation devolves, after that, to Geoff’s rants about poor Pubert’s name. Lindsay has stopped focusing on the conversation- obviously bored, by a rant that she must have heard a dozen times, by now. Even Jack, having only just met Jack, is already sick of the blabbering about Pubert.

Really, the poor man is already suffering enough, with a name like that. He doesn’t need this level of contempt from the (apparent) owner of S.H.I.E.L.D..

The insults only cease, when they reach a new set of doors. Jack hesitates, not wanting to walk into them, like any reasonable person would, but Geoff and Lindsay keep walking. There’s a loud, automated voice that announces “Geoffrey L. Ramsey, Level 08” and “Lindsay Jones, Level 09”, as they walk by. Geoff grunts, mumbling something under his breath about their levels (whatever that even means).

Despite Geoff’s annoyance, the doors open, automatically, without them ever having to press a button. It’s a bittersweet moment for Jack, because, yes, it is improvement of technology, and that is always good, but it’s also a reminder that America benefited from Coal. For a people who condemned Nazi Germany, with every ounce of hatred in their bodies, they adopted technology that Hydra invented. It’s a disgusting reminder.

She didn’t let her discomfort show, like she had, before. After her initial hesitation, she simply steps forward to join the other two. The loud, automated voice announces “Jack Pattillo, Rank 01”, and Jack just wonders how she is already programmed into a system that she’s never come in contact with, before.

Geoff and Lindsay lead her forward, into a room that seems larger than life. It reminds her of Hydra’s bombing storage facility, with armored men standing by every entrance, and scientist and technicians flittering about, randomly.

The Source Block is here, too, sitting in some advanced container- like the one that Jack had broken on _  the Maw.  _ There are lights, illuminating the room, but they are unnecessary. The Block casts enough of a glow, that they don’t need extra lights. This thing is more than enough.

It is strange, seeing the Source Block, here. They shouldn’t have it- Jack almost got herself killed, in trying to ensure that they wouldn’t get their grimy hands on it. It is the most destructive weapon she has ever seen, destroying even the smell of burning flesh.

The only reason that she doesn’t move, right now, and rid the world of the Block, once and for all, is the fact that she doesn’t know. Doesn’t know how to get rid of it- doesn’t know how to fight them all- doesn’t know what to do with it. 70 years ago, the decision had been easy. There was an ocean, vast and deep, and if she dropped the Source Block, they would never find it, again. Now, she has no plane, no ocean, and no plan, and beyond all odds, they found it.

The Source Block is in the hands of this renamed S.W.O.R.D., and Jack doesn’t know what to do about that. She just has to hope that S.W.O.R.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D. are different, in the most miniscule of ways. She has to trust that they won’t use this weapon for evil purposes- has to trust strangers to keep the world safe.

Here, at least, there are no rockets, with enough energy to vaporize a man, within seconds. Here, Gunerz isn’t lying on the floor, waiting to be shot by one of the lasers. Here, Coal is not standing on some high platform, watching and waiting for one of the soldiers to get past Jack’s shield. Screaming “Fire!” and watching Gunerz die.

Here, it isn’t Coal standing above them all, it is Gavin, with his cocky smile and primitive weaponry. The exact opposite of Coal- in appearance and personality. Jack, while she doesn’t like Gavin, can stand him. With Coal, she can’t say the same.

So, maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. isn’t Hydra, but S.H.I.E.L.D. could still be S.W.O.R.D..

“What are they doing with it?” Jack asks, nodding her head towards the blue cube. She feels connected to the cube, like after 70 years, she is supposed to protect it. She is the one who drowned the cube- she is the one who saved the world. Now, when it is out of her hands, she feels like someone should put it back under her control. She can’t trust the world with the Source Block, but it seems the world won’t trust her with it, either.

“What, the Tesseract?” Geoff asks, glancing at the cube.

“The what?”

At the sight of Jack's confusion, Lindsay is quick to explain. "The Source Block. It got a name change, once Michael showed up. He gave us a few hints about what it actually is. Nothing substantial, but, you know."

“Who's Michael?”

“Mogar. Lindsay’s in love with him,” When Lindsay moves to strike Geoff, he spurts out “Allegedly!” As if that completely rights his wrong.

In any other situation, Jack could understand flinching away from a blow, but when Geoff is wearing armor, and Lindsay isn’t, she can’t understand that. How a man, like that, became a superhero, Jack has no idea.

The high pitched screams of the richest man in the world manages to draw the attention of the not-so-richest man in the world, who turns his attention to them, and grins. The archer slings his bow over his shoulder, next to his quiver, and grabs onto a thin wire, next to his platform. He hooks one arm around it, and kicks off of the platform, without hesitation. When his feet leave the ground, he doesn’t panic- just whoops and slides the wire, without care. He’s swinging, in every direction, with only one hand holding him in place. 

Jack, who has done that very maneuver before, instantly knows that he’s doing it wrong, in a way that could land him bruised or worse. She moves to catch him- soften his landing, before he breaks an ankle or sprains his wrist. As it turns out, the rescue attempt is useless. At the last second, Gavin shifts his position, so that both hands are on the wire, to steady himself, and his knees are bent to steady the landing. He lands, perfectly, not even having to brush dust off of his pants.

Neither Gunerz nor Ryan had landed that well, and Jack hates the part of her mind that reminds her of that. Maybe if they’d stuck the landing, they would have been a second faster. Jack could have anticipated the-

She blinks and lets out a quiet sigh. She needs to stop, before she drives herself insane. The memories are only going to haunt her, if she clings to them like she has. She needs to keep herself together, before the ghosts of her past carry her with them.

Gavin is smug, obviously proud to have stuck the landing. It is that pride that makes Jack think that he doesn’t do that, often. If he did, he would have shrugged it off, like it’s something normal. This is something that he only does on occasion, or that he rarely succeeds at. She’ll file that information away, for when she needs it. If she does.

“So, Hawk _ guy _ ,” Geoff says, intentionally stressing the latter part of the nickname. “Notice anything big, while I was gone?”

“Hawk _ eye _ ! It’s Hawkeye! Why does everyone have trouble with Hawkeye, but Mogar’s just Mogar!” Gavin complains, not even bothering to answer Geoff’s question.

“Fine, Hawkguy. Anything big happen?”

“It’s a door.”

“What’s a door?” Lindsay, this time, sounding just as confused as Jack feels.

“The Tesseract. It’s a door.”

“The Source Block is a door?” Jack asks, glancing at the others for confirmation. They have none to give her.

“What’s a Source Block?”

“What do you think it is, genius?” Geoff exclaims, staring at Gavin like he’s the stupidest person in the world. It’s starting to look like that assumption is correct.

“The Tesseract?”

“No shit. Now, what about the door?”

“Doors open both ways.” The archer explains, though that might be a loose form of the word.

Jack doesn’t know whether or not to be thankful for the coming interruption. Maybe if the Source Black hadn’t started blaring, when it did, they could have come up with a plan. They could have developed defenses- posted more soldiers. They could have realized the true power of that glowing cube, instead of standing around and waiting for something to happen. Maybe, if they had started moving before there was a pair of horns poking through the cube, they could have done more.

But, hell, if they had then they would have had to sit through more of the stupidest conversation in history, and that is worse than any damage Mogar and his brother could have caused.

Before Jack can even react, there are two feet stepping out of the Source Block. Then, a hand, gripping a scepter, in a white knuckled hold. Then, finally, the entire body steps out of the cube, that looks far too small to house a man of his stature- of any stature, really.

The man, dressed in black and purple armor that suits him a little too well, stares out at them with bright blue eyes, tracking their every movements. There aren’t many- everyone is frozen in shock, from his sudden appearance. Even Gavin, who may or may not have predicted this, is frozen.

“So, quick question,” The man says, softly. His voice breaks through the deafening silence, freeing some of them from their states of shock. “Has anyone seen Mogar, anywhere around? Because we really need to talk about some stuff.”

“You’re Michael’s brother, right?” Lindsay says, being one of the first to have recovered.

“Michael? Do you mean Mogar? Because you really don’t want to mean Mogar.” It’s a threat- every one of them knows it. Jack, who has absolutely no idea what is going on, knows that that’s a threat. Lindsay doesn’t seem the type to take threats well.

“He showed me pictures of you guys, once. You were a cute little baby!” It’s half-mocking and half-serious, which is exactly what Jack has come to expect from Lindsay.

The horned man lets out a loud sigh, solely for the dramatic purposes of it. His eyes are narrowed- locked onto Lindsay. He shakes his head, and gives her a wide smile, similar to the one that she is wearing.

“Mogar, Michael, whatever his name is- he is not my brother,” The man turns his scepter over in his hands, before looking up at them with eyes that are far too blue. “You should remember that.”

He lets go of his staff, with one hand, and with the other he sets it against the Source Block. There is no explosion, like Jack has come to expect. There is no violent reaction, at all. The staff simply glows blue, and the Source Block condenses, and then it is gone. As simple as that, the Source Block is in the hand of the enemy. There was no fight- no anything. Just a touch, and suddenly the super weapon is in the hands of Mogar’s brother- or relative, or whatever this man is to Mogar.

Jack hasn’t met Mogar, has incredibly limited knowledge as to who Mogar is, at all. Mogar is just another part of a 70 year history, that has been crammed into Jack’s head, when she hasn’t even asked for it. This man, however, makes her want to know more about the deity. This man, in all of his strangeness, plays an interest to Jack.

The man steps to the side, and before Jack can even think to ask why, there is an arrow whipping past the spot that he was once in. The horned man turns, locking his eyes onto Gavin, who already has the next arrow locked onto his string. 

The attack seems to remind the other guards that they do, in fact, have weapons and do, in fact, have the ability to use them. Within seconds, there are 30 guns pointed at the man, and he doesn’t even blink.

“I heard about you,” The man says, not even glancing at the other soldiers, as they begin to creep towards him. If they are planning to surround him, they probably aren’t going to succeed. This man doesn’t seem human, and that probably won’t bode well for them. “You’re the archer, who let Mogar go. Why, in the gods’ names, did you do that?”

“Because he’s great company!” One of the guards, a muscular man with a torn shirt, sarcastically comments. The horned man doesn’t seem to appreciate that comment.

“I can assure you, he really isn’t. He speaks like a sailor in the back of a bar. I wouldn’t have heard more curses, in my life, if I’d grown up with a witch.” He still doesn’t glance at the offending guard. It’s like his vision is locked onto Gavin, preparing for the incoming shot.

“Well, Michael is the God of  _ Fire _ !” Geoff says, stressing the word ‘fire’, as much as he possibly can. While the horned man just looks confused- Mogar is the God of Rage and Thunder, not fire- the guards take the hint. Within the span of a second, every single guard has pulled the trigger.

The man just ducks, and every single bullet sails over his head.

The guards hesitate, as any reasonable person would. He’d moved too quickly- had waited until the last possible second to duck, and still managed to dodge any blow. It takes the fastest one half a second to react, and before he can, the man is there, grabbing hold of the gun, and slamming it roughly against their skull. The guard collapses, and Mogar’s brother doesn’t even hesitate, before he moves onto the next man.

He moves like a computer, finishing them all off in the most efficient way possible, as quickly as he can. There isn’t a step out of place, when he is punching one soldier, and in the next moment, he is stabbing another, with the point of his scepter. He doesn’t break- doesn’t give them a chance to shoot him. If they try, he is there, knocking the gun out of their hands and ending them with a brutal efficiency. There isn’t any rest, any breaks that a normal person would take between punches. It’s like a robot, beating them down without ever having to take a breath.

Jack has no shield and no weapons, nothing to fight him with, but she still tries. She takes a step forward, but before she can swing a punch, he is there. He catches her fist, and gives her an almost apologetic smile, before kicking her legs out from under her. She falls, and he doesn’t let go of her hand. He just twists it, holding it up at an odd angle, while he waits for the others to react. 

She is trapped, held in place by the pain moving through her arm. Unlike the others, she is stuck, useless like a bird in a cage. She can’t move, without aggravating her injury further. She can’t look at them, without twisting her arm, a little more.

So she does what any normal person wouldn’t. She pushes back, with her free hand, intending to push him back- trip him so that he’d let go of her arm. It should give her enough time to break free, and get back to fighting as well as she can, against an alien.

As should be expected, it doesn’t work. The push doesn’t even move him, at all, let alone force him to let go of her. Apparently, the strength of a god is a fair rival to the strength of a super soldier.

“Who’s this one?” The man asks to Gavin.

“Kdin-” Gavin lowers his bow as a sign of surrender. He sees that Jack is caught, with little chance of escaping, and that makes him surrender? In Jack’s experience, you keep fighting as hard as you possibly can, no matter the consequences! Captain America isn’t someone you stop to save! She is someone you’re supposed to fight for!

“That’s right!” The horned man- Kdin- says, gleefully. “It’s not ‘Are you Mogar’s brother, because Mogar is oh-so-great, let me kiss his feet’. It’s ‘Kdin,’. See, I like that a lot better. Don’t you, random person-who-tried-to-hit-me?”

“Why is it all the villains seem to talk too much?” Jack says, through gritted teeth. She can’t look back- can’t see what Geoff and Lindsay are doing, but she can’t see them moving much. Geoff sees her as an experiment- she can see that, after only having known him for a few minutes. He won’t want to risk her death, if that means that he won’t find out how to recreate the super soldier serum. And Lindsay- well, Jack can’t really understand Lindsay’s motivations, yet, but she probably won’t make a move. Probably.

“Am I a villain? I mean, I do talk too much- Mogar always bitched about that- but am I a villain?” Kdin asks, twisting her arm a little further to the side.

“It kind of looks like it.” Gavin responds, in Jack’s place. She’s grateful- the pain is getting to be a little too much to speak through. She has the unique ability of fast regeneration, but the serum didn’t boost her pain tolerance. That is still as weak as ever.

“Well, it looks wrong! I’m your liberator- your freedom fighter! I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to free you!” He sounds so sincere, that Jack almost forgets that she’s practically his captive, at the moment. ‘Almost’ being the key word, there.

“Prove it.”

“Sure.” Kdin says.

There is a brief, blissful moment, where the pain in Jack’s hand is gone, and that is all she can think about. The agony has dissipated and her movement has been returned to her. It’s a moment, in which she pushes herself to her feet and lets her natural regeneration take care of her injury. A moment of absolute, unadulterated peace.

Then Jack looks up, and Kdin is stabbing Gavin in the chest.

Except, the scepter isn’t piercing the skin, or carving out his insides, like Jack expected. Instead, there are just thin blue lines, line veins, spreading across Gavin’s skin, and settling in his pupils. He twitches, but his eyes stay locked onto Kdin, like they are in some sort of staring contest. Gavin doesn’t fight- just keeps staring at Kdin, until the god steps away, grinning.

“Do you feel liberated?” Kdin asks. From Gavin, there is no hesitation.

“It feels top!” The archer exclaims, his grin splitting his face in half.

“What did you do to him?” Lindsay demands. Her fists aren’t clenched and her stance is relaxed, but Jack can see in her eyes that she is not happy. She is on the verge of attacking and nothing Kdin says will stop her.

“I freed him. I thought I made that obvious.” He looks perplexed, like he doesn’t understand why they would be appalled by whatever he just did to Gavin.

When he moves his scepter away, Gavin’s eyes stay blue.

While Geoff tenses, and Jack clenches her fists, Lindsay stares with an almost bored expression, studying the archer. Gavin doesn’t move- keeps staring at Kdin, like he is the only thing in this room that matters. It’s an odd sight to see, from a boy who, moments ago, had been spitting out the strangest metaphor that Jack has ever heard. Somehow it turned out to be correct, and now Gavin is paying the price for it.

“You realize that he already was free, right?” Lindsay says, blandly. Jack can imagine her chewing gum, as she stares the god down, she is so apathetic about this.

“Exactly! I’m freeing him from freedom! That is-”

“Yeah, we get it. ‘ War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength’, yada yada yada. Can we get to the point, here? ‘Cause I’m really getting bored.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Kdin sounds genuinely confused. Her uncaring attitude seems to have shaken his pride and driven him back to caution. "You do realize I just captured your friend here, right?" To prove it, he prods at Gavin's chest, and Gavin just rolls back with his finger- never moving, never reacting. "Aren't humans supposed to be empathetic or something?”

“Who ever told you that? Let me guess,” Lindsay makes a show of trying to think about it- hand up to her chin, while she makes murmurs of consideration. “Oh! I got it! It wasn’t a human! Am I right?”

“I-” Kdin pauses, having nothing left to say. He swallows, nervously, obviously uncomfortable. He looks weak, stuttering and searching for words to respond to a human with, when he is, apparently, supposed to be above humanity.

Jack has no idea who Lindsay is, doesn’t know what she’s there for, doesn’t know why she’s there, but she knows one thing. Lindsay is smarter than she looks, if she can drive a god to confusion with only a few words.

“So, what’s your big scheme? You’ve got us cornered, since you’re god of- what is it, again? Cows and jokes?”

“Dragons and lies.” He answers, but he sounds unsure. He glances down at his scepter, as if it will hold the answer for him. When it doesn’t, he glances up at Gavin, who doesn’t give him any response. Somehow, this woman has made a god question his own powers.

“Ok, God of Dragons and Pies-”

“Lies.”

“Lies,” Lindsay agrees, as if she never made any mistake, in the first place. “You probably have some big scheme, right? So, tell us. We’re all going to die here, anyway, so why not tell us how?”

“I’m not that dumb! I’m the God of Lies! I think I can tell when someone is bullshitting me!”

“And Dragons.” Jack says. Lindsay glances at him, and there is a clear grin sprawled across her face. Kdin, too focused on Jack, doesn’t notice.

Jack sees her plan, clear as day. She wants to trick him- get him so focused on dealing with their mischief, that he isn’t thinking about anything else. If they can distract him, one of them can reach Gavin, to figure out what’s wrong with him. While the other two continue to distract the foolish god, the third can shoot him, and Kdin will have lost within ten minutes of stepping through the Source Block.

Hopefully Geoff sees the tactic, because he would be the one to shoot. Jack and Lindsay have firmly placed themselves in the shoes of the distractor, leaving Geoff to be Gavin’s rescuer. Hopefully, he sees the plan.

“What?” Kdin asks, head tilted and eyes narrowed.

“You’re the God of Lies and Dragons. You literally said that thirty seconds ago.”

“I didn’t-”

“How did this devolve so quickly? First you got rid of Gavin, which was great! Thanks for that, by the way, I owe you one.” Geoff says, with nothing but honesty in his voice. “But now it’s just getting stupider.”

The interruption shatters all of Jack’s hopes, with those simple words. By speaking, he made it clear that he didn’t understand the plan. He’d made three distractors, where there needed to be two. The guards are down- all defeated or dead- and the technicians don’t have the weapons or the skills to take down this god. Geoff, effectively, killed them, by reminding Kdin of his presence.

They are effectively fucked, and Gavin is just standing there, dead to the world, like he has been for the past few minutes. Jack wants to punch him- kick him- shoot him with his own arrow, if that’s what it takes to wake him. Maybe the blue eyed man can take Kdin down, where they can’t. If only he’d move- or do anything, at all, for that matter.

"My informants may have been slightly wrong about the state of your world," Kdin says, awkwardly. "Apparently, they didn't tell me that you're all insane."

“Not all of us,” Geoff grins, a wide smile that splits his face- much like Lindsay’s. “Mostly just Gavin and Lindsay.”

“Craziness is a S.H.I.E.L.D. requirement.” Lindsay agrees. She doesn’t sound as annoyed as Jack expected, considering the way that Geoff just ruined their plans. So either Lindsay is an incredible liar, or that wasn’t her plan from the start.

“I don’t- I’m just gonna go,” Kdin says, pointing towards the door. He’s the picture of awkward, and it’s almost funny that a god has such human reactions to awkward situations. “Maybe after I gain a few allies.” He glances at the men and women in lab coats, who are somehow still in shock. Not a single one of them have moved, since he stepped into the room. Perfect targets.

“Let me guess. If we try to stop you, you’ll kill Gavin," Geoff says, dryly, without a care in the world. "Oh no."

“I freed him! I’m not planning to kill him! Why would I kill him? Free, I wouldn't kill you, right?” The god turns to face the archer, who glances back at him with dead eyes.

“What am I righting?” He sounds genuinely perplexed, and Kdin pauses. They don’t get a moment to appreciate the fact that Gavin can speak, before the god lets out a sigh.

"Okay, maybe I do want to kill him, but only because he's an idiot."

"I like you." Geoff says.

"I’m just gonna go, now,” Kdin says, slowly. He is nodding as he speaks, and giving a wide, almost nervous, smile. He looks scared- that’s what it is. Fear. “Gavin,” He sounds like he is still testing the name. “With me.” 

Gavin nods, and steps forward to follow the horned man, but he isn’t fast enough. Lindsay stops him, with a hand on his chest, and shakes her head. “Sorry, but you weren’t cleared for release. We’re gonna have to hold you, until then.”

“What?” The archer asks, not even looking down at the hand on his chest. He just stares at Lindsay- eyes narrowed and shoulders tense.

“You dare hinder the will of a god?” Any of the warmness, nervousness, fear in Kdin’s voice drips away. Instead, he is cold and calculated. His hands are gripped, white knuckled, around his scepter. He swings around, and presses the tip of the staff against Lindsay’s throat. She doesn’t react. 

“Maybe,” her voice is just as calculated as his, but she doesn’t let that show. She could die here, but she doesn’t even seem to care. It’s either bravery or stupidity, and Jack can’t tell which, yet. “Depends on the god.”

“Oh? Because I’ve heard some stories about Mogar and the Black Widow.” He whistles, and Lindsay just tilts her head.

“What stories?” She asks, genuinely curious. Her expression doesn’t give away anything.

“Stories.” He has a slight smirk, that barely reaches his eyes. His scepter, still at her throat, pulls back, slightly.

“Stories of what? I’m curious.”

Why is she curious? Anyone and their mothers can realize what Kdin is alluding to. Even Jack, who has incredibly limited knowledge of anything after 1945, and even she can realize that Kdin is implying that the two of them are together. It’s not a hard assumption to make. 

None of them are stupid- they wouldn’t have been accepted into S.H.I.E.L.D. if they were- but right now, Jack is questioning that. Because Gavin is an idiot, plain and simple, and Lindsay can’t seem to comprehend basic principles of rumors. They are always related to romance.

“They claim that you two are… you know, a pair.” Jack is starting to wonder exactly how this man earned the title of ‘god’, because he seems a little too nervous to be that highly regarded. Maybe there is something that Jack is missing, but he has already devolved back into his uncomfortable state.

“A pair of what?”

“I don’t know how to,” he pauses, searching for the word, and he doesn’t smile when he finds it. “Lovers, I guess?”

“Lovers?” Lindsay’s eyebrow quirks. 

“Lovers.” The conversation is getting boring, and Jack lets her attention shift.

There is a window, past Gavin’s former perch, that Jack hadn’t noticed before. It’s a small, dirty thing, that is probably only there to let smoke out when something explodes. In S.H.I.E.L.D. things probably explode, a lot. If the organization is anything like it’s predecessor, there must be explosions, constantly.

Today, though, there is no explosion. There is no smoke that must be let out through that window, no need for it to be opened. So, in all honesty, there wasn’t a need for Jack to look out that window, in the first place. 

The only notable thing about it is that, outside, the sky is grey. It hadn’t been like that, when she walked into the building, barely 20 minutes ago. It had been clear skies and high winds. There had been no clouds, anywhere to be found.

She glances back at the others to find that Lindsay and Kdin are still arguing, and Gavin is still just standing there. Not much has changed- Kdin’s scepter is still against Lindsay’s neck, Gavin’s gaze is still empty- but Geoff catches her eyes, and nods towards the window. She can’t tell if he’s smiling, through his helmet, but she has a feeling that he might just be.

Geoff knows that there is something wrong, and if Geoff knows, then Lindsay will, too. If she doesn’t know, already. There is something that they are hinting at that Jack just can’t grasp.

Through the window, Jack catches a bright flash- thunder, most likely. It’s not rare to have a thunderstorm in Austin, but it is rare for it to come on so quickly. Storms are usually slow building. They usually take hours to build up, completely, before the skies turn grey and the thunder begins to strike.

Their plan hits Jack with a sudden ferocity, and it takes all of her willpower not to grin at her newfound companions. It’s brilliant.

Jack watches as the storm builds, as the thunder grows brighter, and brighter, and closer, and closer. Geoff and Lindsay manage to keep Kdin thoroughly distracted, while Jack scans the skies. It shouldn’t take long- should barely take a minute more.

Within thirty seconds, there is rain pounding down overhead. Within another fifteen, it sounds like a tsunami is striking them, but Kdin is either too stupid or too distracted to care.

“Boss,” Gavin’s voice breaks through Jack’s excitement, and even she has to tune back into the conversation. “They’re stalling.”

Did he realize? Does he know their plan? Gavin isn’t that smart. Gavin is supposed to be an idiot. He’s the fool of the group, he’s the one that wouldn’t notice these little details. He prides himself on narcissism, not intelligence! He can’t have noticed!

“Stalling for what?” And now Kdin is suspicious, eyes dark and unreadable. He presses his scepter closer to Lindsay’s neck, and still, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“They called Michael. He’ll be coming any minute, now,” Gavin glances at the window, that Jack had been studying. Had he noticed her constant gaze? “Probably less, by the way this storm is going.”

“Of course they did.” Kdin sounds more exasperated than angry, but Jack doesn’t let that fool her. This man is supposed to be a god. He probably has supreme control over his emotions. He has to, to live in a world with gods. He turns back to Lindsay, and his expression is blank. “You planned this?”

“Planned what? I called Michael with my Michael-powers? It doesn’t work like that, buddy.” She is either a spectacular liar or she isn’t lying at all. Jack can’t tell, and she’s willing to bet that Kdin can’t, either.

“Oh, it’s definitely possible. Mogar has all the resources of Achievement City kissing his ass. He can probably enchant a dildo, and it would save the goddamn realm.” He sounds bitter, but Jack really doesn’t care about his problems. As much as she wants to help Lindsay, what she says next is simply said to stop his bitching.

“Aren’t you his brother? You should have those resources, too, then.”

Kdin lowers his scepter, and before Jack can blink, she feels the cool metal pressing against her throat. She tenses, surprised by the sudden strike, and the movement simply lets the staff slice against her neck. The tip is too sharp, and she can feel thin trickles of blood drip down to her chest.

His cold eyes lock with hers, and she doesn’t react to the dark gaze. His jaw is locked, teeth slightly showing, like he is baring his teeth at her. He doesn’t look quite as collected, as he had earlier.

“He’s not my brother.”

“Cousin?” Jack tries. The blade presses, a little harder, and the thin stream turns thick.

“He’s not related to me. He pretended to be, but he’s not! Banjo plucked me from my home, and-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Geoff interrupts, before breaking into a heavy bout of laughter. “‘Banjo’? There’s actually someone named Banjo?”

“Thats our- his father.” Kdin’s voice trails off, when Geoff starts laughing, even harder. He lessens the pressure on Jack’s neck, giving her slight room to breathe.

“Your father’s name is Banjo?”

“It’s _h_ _ is _ father! Why is this so hard to understand?”

“All I’m hearing is that your father’s name is Banjo, and that’s really fucking funny, dude.” It’s funny, but it’s nowhere near as funny as Geoff is making it out to be.

The ground rumbles, roughly, as a burst of lightning strikes the building. There is no damage, and there are no screams, so there probably isn’t any injuries. The only minor disturbance is the sound of it- loud enough that Jack flinches away from the noise. Lindsay notices, and has to stifle a laugh.

“He’s close, boss.” Gavin announces, nervously glancing towards the ceiling.

“Yeah, I got that. Thanks.” The sarcasm is practically dripping out of Kdin’s mouth, now.

There really isn’t a good moment that it could have happened. There was no way to prepare for Mogar’s sudden entrance- no way to expect it. Sure, they had all agreed that he was close, but none of them expected him to come so soon, because the second Kdin finished with his sarcasm, the small window by Gavin’s perch shattered.

There is a large blue blade stabbing through the hole, where glass had once rested. It pokes upward, and somehow the window frame collapses. Metal framework shifts upward, straining and crumbling from the sheer pressure of the weapon, against it. Whoever is pulling it- and Jack has a pretty good guess of who that would be- has to be incredibly strong, to manage that.

In the end, the hole is large enough, that Mogar can pass through without any sort of problem. He doesn’t even have to bend over, to get through his makeshift entrance. He just strolls through, without a care in the world.

Mogar is not what Jack expected. Jack expected a warrior, with a more-than-life size sword, and a thousand pounds of muscles. She expected fangs, claws, and slits for eyes. She expected him to be seven feet tall, or more. She expected horns, like Kdin has, or a tail, or anything but his humanoid figure.

Instead, he’s a grown man in a bear pelt, with a life size blue sword resting on his shoulder. Six red streaks stretch from his chin to his neck, drawn on with his fingers. He has curly hair and yellow shorts, and Jack never imagined a god could look so stupid.

“Kdin?” Mogar says, with a sarcastic tone and a voice that is more high pitched than Jack expected. “Oh, I never would have guessed that you were here! It’s always a shock to see you in public!”

“Oh, shut up,” Kdin mutters, before raising his voice. “I do happen to have one of your friend’s captives, if you’ll notice.” He gestures to Gavin, who waves at the God of Rage and Thunder. Mogar doesn’t wave back.

“Oh, no,” Mogar says, dryly. “You’ve got Gavin. Whatever will I do, without a human archer by my side. By the gods, I’m doomed.”

“It's good to see you’re still an asshole, Mogar.”

“And I’m glad to see that you’re still a whiny bitch, who still thinks he’s better than everyone, ‘cause sometimes his skin turns blue,” He shakes his head. “Come on, man!”

“It’s not the blue skin that makes me better than you. It’s everything else.” Kdin says, grinning like a madman. He doesn’t seem scared of Mogar, doesn’t even blink when a bolt of lightning strikes outside the broken window, again. He just keeps grinning at his not-brother, and ignoring everyone else in the room.

Jack, on the other hand, shuffles a little closer to Lindsay. Kdin doesn’t notice, but Mogar glances at Jack, and tilts his head, as if questioning his motives. He doesn’t voice them, which is a very good thing. It wouldn’t be good for Kdin to remember that they are here. Plus, it gives Jack the chance to ask Lindsay a very, very important question.

“He has blue skin?”

“Yeah.” She replies, distractedly. Apparently, judging by the fact that no one seemed to mind the fact that he could apparently change his skin colors, they already knew this. Jack really missed a lot, during her vacation inside of an ice cube.

“Does he?” Jack points at Mogar, but Lindsay doesn’t even glance at her finger.

“No.” She doesn’t explain any further, obviously disinterested with Jack’s questioning.

Jack feels uncomfortable, watching Mogar hefting his sword, so casually. Like he was born with the blade in his hand, and hasn’t let it go, since. That was how she was with her shield, too, and now she is missing the heavy weight on her back. She feels weak, defenseless in a way. The others are there, but she can’t trust them to stop him. The only person that she knows is herself. She is the only one that she can trust. She doesn’t like feeling helpless, in that sort of situation.

Sure, if the C Team was there, she might feel a little better about it. She could trust Shadles to have her back, and Grob to accidentally shoot down any problems. She could trust Matt and Jeremy to do their jobs, without hesitation or complaint, even if she was in danger. She could trust Ryan to saunter over, and hand her the shield, with only a flubbed jab as a punishment.

But C Team isn’t here, right now. C Team is never going to be there, again, because only one of them is left, and she is in a nursing home, because ‘her head has been going all whammy’. There’s no one left to throw Jack her shield, or cover her sides.

She just has to trust that she can handle herself, without it. She hasn’t done that in a long time.

“So, what’s your game plan here, Kdin?” Mogar says, nonchalantly. “You’re going to mind warp all the humans? Take over Earth? I thought that was below you. Guess I was wrong.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Kdin turns his attention to the archer and bites out a quick “Free, let’s get moving.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” The archer reaches for his quiver, and within a second, has an arrow knocked onto his bow. He aims it at Mogar, but the arrow probably wouldn’t do much damage. Gods probably cannot be harmed by human weaponry. If they can be, they aren’t very good gods, anyway. That thought makes her grin, and she glances back at Kdin, who is slowly shuffling towards the door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a god?” She asks. The horned man freezes, and throws a curious glance to her. She hasn’t spoken much, to him. Maybe a sentence or two, here or there. She’s the type of person who likes to take in a situation- think before she speaks. This is her way of doing that.

“I’m not supposed to be anything. I am a god. Your god.”

“I’ve never heard of a god, who runs away at the slightest sign of trouble, but okay, then. That sounds like it makes sense.” The sarcasm dripping off of her tongue is overwhelming, and Kdin glares at her, when he recognizes it.

“What, you think he’s any better?” Kdin jabs his thumb towards Mogar, who is staring at Jack, like she has two heads and twice as many bodies.

“Well he ran here  _ to _ fight. You’re running _f_ _ rom _ the fight. There’s a little difference there, I think.”

“Who even are you?” He gets closer, knuckles white around his staff. She knows what he’s about to do- plans for it, even. Jack isn’t an idiot- not like he is. He reaches up with his staff, intending to press it against her chest, and steal her mind like he did with Gavin. 

She doesn’t give him the chance.

“Captain America.” She says, cold and smug. Kdin blinks, and all hell breaks loose.

She grabs the scepter, knocks it away before Kdin can move it any closer to her. He wasn’t prepared for a superhuman, and even with a heavy fist, he isn’t strong enough to maintain his grip. The staff goes flying, spinning across the room, and sparking as it goes. The sparks set off- creating mini-explosions everywhere they touch. A spark hits Kdin’s arm, and it bursts into blue flame. It reminds Jack of the plane, of watching Coal burn away into nothing. It’s not a nice sight to see, again.

Kdin yells something- loud and angry, but his words are unimportant. His weapon is gone, and suddenly everyone is moving. He has nothing to threaten them with- nothing to make them even hesitate. So they don’t.

Mogar, the closest to Kdin, strikes first. He grabs Kdin with his free arm, and wrenches the god towards him. Without any hesitation, he swings his enormous sword, and sets the tip against Kdin’s throat. He doesn’t press in, but doesn’t push in far enough to draw blood.

Geoff and Lindsay, on the other hand, don’t bother themselves with Kdin. He’s useless without the weapon, and they recognize that. Mogar can handle it, by himself. They don’t need to waste time. There is only one thing left that they need to do.

Lindsay doesn’t even have to blink, before she is stalking over to Gavin, and socking him in the jaw. Her stance is perfect, so much so that Jack wonders where she learned it. Most military men and women don’t know how to throw a good punch. They taught them to shoot a gun and run a tour, but hand-to-hand lessons are fairly brief. Either military training changed, in the past few decades, or Lindsay learned somewhere else.

Either way, Jack can’t help, but wince at the sound of Gavin’s face cracking, with the force of Lindsay’s hit. The blow knocks Gavin’s face to the side, and Gavin lets out a loud shriek. The crack can barely be heard over his yell, but Jack notices it, instantly. She winces, wondering what must have broken, with that hit.

Gavin falls to the ground, thrown off of his balance by the force of Lindsay’s punch. He doesn’t even move his hands to break his fall. He just goes down, like a sack of potatoes and Jack almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“You good, yet?” Lindsay asks, eyeing the archer with the promise of more violence, if he makes a move. She has no weapons and no magic scepter, but after that punch, it is obvious that she shouldn’t be crossed. Hopefully Gavin is back to normal, because otherwise he is probably going to lose his head.

Gavin blinks, looks up at her with a crooked nose and blood running from his nostrils to his chin. He holds out his hand, and Lindsay takes it, hauling Gavin to his feet, without a word.

“I think you broke my nose.” The archer mumbles, rubbing at the injured extremity, looking appalled when he feels how crooked it is.

He glances at Jack, and his eyes are green. She lets out a breath, relieved, and starts moving back towards him. Geoff takes her cue, and also approaches the injured archer.

“It’s not much of a loss.” Geoff says, eyeing the injury without much pity. He sounds like he’s joking, but Jack doesn’t know him quite well enough to be sure of that.

Gavin doesn’t respond- is probably too busy dealing with the after effects of mind control to try, because while his eyes are clear, they are darting everywhere, as if taking in a situation that he doesn’t understand. 

Jack still has no idea of what’s going on, but she still feels bad for him. He is younger than even she was, when she joined the military. He doesn’t look fit for duty, at all- too scrawny and too distracted- like Jack before the serum.

Maybe that’s why she feels bad for him. A scrawny soldier will always draw her pity, where others probably wouldn’t. He’s an asshole, she could tell that from the car ride, alone, but he is also a kid who happens to be down on his luck. Not only was he just mind controlled by a narcissistic alien, not only was he just punched in the face by an ally, but his primary weapon is a stick with some string, and Jack can feel bad for stupidity, sometimes.

“This didn’t go quite as planned.” Kdin admits, suddenly. Mogar’s blade sliced further into his neck, and Kdin swallowed, nervously.

“Really? I hadn’t guessed,” the other god said, dryly. “Here, I thought it went perfectly.”

Only Jack notices Kdin’s grin.

\---

Ray Narvaez Jr. is an odd man, to say the least. Maybe it is due to the stench that follows him, the unpleasant smell of marijuana, or maybe it is due to the fact that he seems to only wear the same purple hoodie, everyday of his life. Or maybe it’s because he turns into a giant purple monster whenever he gets angry. That might have to do with it.

He’s smart- no one can say that he isn’t. Apparently, it was that intelligence that actually led him to where he is now, trapped on a helicarrier with some of the most dangerous people that Jack has ever met, including Jack. Being the Hulk gets him a lot of attention, apparently.

“So, you get a million dollars-” Gavin starts, but is immediately interrupted.

“Do you want me to Hulk out, right now, ‘cause I’ll do it. Say the word, and I’ll do it.” Narvaez snaps, with the air of a man who has heard this setup thousand times before. Jack feels a little disappointed, at that. Gavin has only asked about four of them in the past few minutes, and they were interesting enough. She wants to see where he was going.

And as serious as the threat it, Jack doesn’t think it could actually happen. Narvaez seems to constantly have a joint in hand, and smoke slipping off of his tongue. He seems too high to be angry at anything, even if it is Gavin.

They’re all waiting for something- some alien force that Kdin called for, before he disappeared into a puff of smoke. Somehow, he’d gotten out of his prison, and somehow, he’d completely demolished the engines of the ship in the process. Geoff has it, mostly, under control, but Jack can feel the way that the ship stutters between their feet. It won’t be long, before there are aliens pouring out of the sky and the Helicarrier is falling down with them.

Even Lindsay, who is usually as collected as anyone Jack has ever met, looks on edge. She’s outside, behind a reinforced glass wall- says that she’ll stay as far away as she can from Narvaez. Unsurprisingly, the woman without any enhanced abilities doesn’t want to face an unstoppable purple monster. 

Jack doesn’t blame her for that. She has superpowers and even she doesn’t want to go against a man who can, apparently, face multiple rockets and come out only slightly singed. She likes to fight the bigger guys, but sometimes survival instincts decide to butt their heads in. Annoying things that they are.

“How is the Hulk, anyway?” Mogar asks, distractedly. His eyes are still on the sky, keeping an eye out for his not-brother, though his attention might be a hindrance to the mission. The skies are cloudy now, and every so often there will be a bolt of lightning that strikes a little too close to their airship. Jack just hopes that it will hit  _ after  _ they are on solid ground.

In this weather, there is no hope for seeing Kdin before he strikes. He practically has a wall between him and humanity.

"He's good. He still wants to beat the shit out of you for last time, but he's good." Narvaez says, without any of his previous annoyance. He likes Mogar- Jack could see that after only spending a few short minutes with them. They two have some sort of history, that she can't really place.

They're friends, that is one thing that she is sure about. In the same way that Geoff and Gavin are friends. In the way that Ryan and Jack were friends. They could insult each other for years, but under it there was always that barely hidden fondness underneath it all. That sort of friendship is always the best.

Jack misses that.

"I'm telling you,  _ Kazooie _ can kick your giant purple ass into oblivion." Mogar gestures to the sword, strapped to his back. It’s sheathed, but even through the metal container, there is still a faint blue glow. It’s nothing like the Source Block, which was as bright as any star, but it’s still bright. It still illuminates the room more than the lights do.

But, despite the power that that sword must contain, Jack can’t help, but grin. Geoff is nowhere to be seen, but somewhere, Jack is sure that he is laughing about the stupidity of that sword’s name. Who decided to name a giant diamond sword " _ Kazooie _ "?

“A sword isn’t going to be killing the Other Guy.” Narvaez says, calmly.

Jack can’t help, but agree. From the stories that they’ve told her, a nuclear bomb wouldn’t destroy the Hulk. A sword won’t do much damage, if it would do any.

“It’s not just a sword.” Mogar defends, reaching over his shoulder to stroke the hilt of his blade.

“Fine.  _ Magic _ swords won’t be killing the Other Guy, either.”

“ _ Kazooie _ can kill the shit out of your shitty temper tantrum.  _ Kazooie _ is a feat of Achievement City technology- more developed than anything your shitty planet has ever seen. She can slice the living crap out of the big scary purple man.” The god sounds a little too defensive.

“Are you just jealous that my giant dick is bigger than your puny alien dick?”

“My dick is fine!”

“Because, the Other Guy has a pretty big dick,” Ray continues, as if Mogar hadn’t even spoken. “And your sword seems to be a little,” he pauses, searching for the right word, and smirking when he finds it. “Overcompensating.”

“My dick is perfectly fine!”

“I can confirm.” Gavin announces, spreading his hands so that they’re almost a foot away from each other. For a second, Jack is just confused, but then she realizes exactly what that gesture means and- oh.

“Yeah! Gavin’s seen the dicks of everyone in this crew,” Michael says, excitedly. “Gavin, how big is Ray’s dick, compared to mine?”

The archer stretches his hands a little bit further, and Ray lets out a victorious laugh, while Mogar gawks in astonishment. He isn’t annoyed, isn’t angry, isn’t mistrusting. He just seems to be putting on a show. A mock expression of awe, because he’s joking around. And when Gavin drops his hands and Ray mimes rubbing one off, Mogar just bursts into laughter. It’s a chuckled, loud, reverberating laugh that Jack doesn’t think she’ll ever forget.

It’s innocent. Even on a topic that is not-quite-so-innocent, it feels lighthearted. It feels like a joke that warms her heart to hear, even though it is three men- three boys joking about the sizes of the genitals. It’s nice.

And it’s the little moments like that that she can appreciate, in the end.

\---

Jack has her shield, but Kdin has his army, and she wonders if that balances out the joy of this reunion.

Somewhere, Geoff is shooting bolts of fire, or lightning, or energy out of his palms- she doesn’t know what that is, but she doesn’t really care. 

Gavin is shooting off an array of arrows towards the enemy- explosive arrows, bramble arrows, drill arrows. You name it, and he has an arrow for it. 

Lindsay is holding her own, taking down their enemies one-by-one, and killing more with her fists than Jack can with her shield. It’s a remarkable sight, but she can’t witness it for long. She has her own business to attend to.

Mogar is slicing through their enemies, like they are made of paper.  _ Kazooie _ is, apparently, just as good a weapon as Mogar claims it to be, because Jack has never seen a weapon move with such ease. Maybe it’s Mogar, maybe it’s the blade, or maybe it’s both, because watching bolts of lightning splinter from the sword, while it slices through another alien’s head is almost as remarkable as watching Lindsay kill aliens with her pinky toe.

Narvaez- or, well, the Hulk- is just as formidable an ally. He doesn’t wait to strike, like Lindsay. Doesn’t calculate every single movement, like Gavin. Doesn’t move with grace, like Mogar. Doesn’t have technology on his side, like Geoff. Despite all this, he destroys.

The Hulk takes out more Endermen than the rest of them combined, with a single fist, and his score is doubled if the other fist is also taken into account. He crushes the enemy soldiers, stomps on them, punches them, kicks them, and he has the force of a thousand pounds of weight behind each hit.

He doesn’t fly, so much as he jumps, but for a second Jack is convinced that he is just flying through the air like the most muscular dove in history. He lands, quickly, on a few clustered Endermen, and that illusion is shattered. The ground shakes, where he lands, and the rumble draws Jack out of her distracted mind.

She looks up, and watches as several speeding police cars race down the street. They’re not moving towards the disaster- not attempting to help. Instead, they are trying to find the quickest route to get away from the battle. She can’t blame them. They hadn’t signed up for this, but then again, neither had she when she had joined the army.

No, it’s good that the police are getting out of their hair. They would be defenseless against the sheer quantity of these aliens. They wouldn’t know how to fight them- wouldn’t even have the ability to. At least, this way they won’t be in the way.

It’s not just the police that are running, either. There are multiple civilians attempting to flee from the onslaught, and finding themselves caught in the crossfire. Only a block away from where she is standing, there is a teenaged boy stuck under a pile of debris, and another boy who is standing over him and screaming for help.

There’s no hesitation, before Jack is running towards them. She doesn’t have to think about helping. This is what she is here for. She doesn’t want to kill anyone- alien invaders or not. She just wants the war to end, so that the rest of the world can be safe. If she can protect them in the meantime, then that is what she has to do.

She runs fast- more so than any other person she’s ever met. Even before her enhancement, she had always been quick. It was her one advantage in a thousand different fights with a thousand different bullies. She moved quickly and she thought quickly. Even if she never did win a fight, it meant that she never came out of one with more than a cracked rib and a concussion.

Now, she is even faster, and she reaches the trapped civilian before he even notices her coming. She doesn’t hesitate- doesn’t ask if he’s okay or if he can be moved without further injury. Right now, if he doesn’t move, he’ll end up being crushed by a thousand pound man and that is much worse than any damage she can do to him by moving him.

It doesn’t take much effort to lift the pole, and it doesn’t take more to yell at his friend to move him away. Even as light as it is, she can’t hold it forever!

The boy scrambles, reaching for his friend and pulling him by his legs. The injured boy screams as broken bones and bruises scrape against the floor, but the other man keeps pulling him, encouraged by Jack’s glare.

When the civilian is out of harm’s way, Jack lets the debris fall back down, and ignore the way that both men flinch. She isn’t here to be their friend. She is here to be their protector. That doesn’t mean she has to be nice to them. In fact, it seems to be more effective when she isn’t nice to them.

“Go,” Jack says, coldness slipping into her voice. Fear makes people move. She isn’t going to comfort them, if it means they’ll be unafraid. “Find somewhere to be. We’ll get this cleaned up in no time.”

The injured boy, still lying on his back, nods hastily. He holds up a hand for his friend to grab, but the civilian doesn’t. He just blinks, and pushes out a “Is there anyway we can help you?” His tone isn’t steady and his voice is hoarse from screaming, but his eyes are locked onto Jack, when they should be wild. He looks calm, even when every other part of him is shaking with adrenaline and fear.

She almost says “Yes.” She almost tells him to run off to the police chief to tell him to recall his men. She almost tells him to find a way to get in contact with Burns to call off the attack that Geoff keeps warning them about. She almost gets him involved.

Instead, she says “Just- just go home, kid. We’ll take it from here.”

The boy nods and Jack doesn’t see what he does next, because she is running back towards the fight, and doesn’t have the time to glance back at the people that she’s already saved, when there are so many others that she has yet to rescue.

She reaches over her shoulder, and unslings the shield from its spot on her back. She isn’t planning to throw it, just yet, so she lets her arm slip in between the two metal handholds, crafted into the back of her weapon. The Enderman are shooting around her, apparently worse shots than even the Nazis were.

Really? Why do the other armies never train their soldiers to shoot? They just pointed and shot- never took a second to aim and never bothered to readjust when their shots missed. It took Hydra months to take out a member of C Team, and even then, it wasn't the shot that killed him. It was caused by a gun, indirectly, but it wasn’t the aim that killed him. Maybe if the Nazi had aimed, he wouldn’t have died. Maybe it would have just burned him, instead of knocking him off of the train. Maybe Jack wouldn’t be stranded in the 21st century, with all of her friends dead, and everyone she has ever known in a nursing home, a coffin, or in Ryan’s case, at the bottom of a canyon.

There is a sudden burning heat that drags Jack away from her thoughts. She can feel it sear through clothes and skin, and knows that they will need to replace this suit after all is said and done. She can’t get distracted, anymore. She can’t fall into that trap of grieving, like she always done. She is fighting a war. She needs to be focused if she wants to survive it.

She hauls her shield over her head to form as cover against the Endermen attacks. It is one of the few times that she actually gets to use it for its intended purpose, but the Endermen don't give her much time to dwell on that. There are too many attacks- striking too close to home.

Run left to dodge a shot. Duck right to evade a fireball. Sprint under a building to avoid Kdin's watchful eyes that scan the fighting with the intensity of an eagle. He knows where Mogar is- knows where Geoff is, and definitely knows where Narvaez is, but he doesn't quite know where the rest of them are. 

Lindsay is too small- can't do enough damage to draw his attention. She doesn't have superpowers or explosives. She is just a normal sized person with normal weapons- her hands and feet. It's not enough to make him even glance at her.

Gavin is causing damage- of course he is, with explosive and acidic arrows that Jack wouldn't trust him with in any other circumstance- but Kdin can't find him. Gavin's laying low, on the roof of some building off on the outskirts of the fighting. He still shoots perfectly at targets that are hundreds of feet away from him (like Ryan shooting cans from 500 feet, but without the rifle's sight. Jack has to shake her head to forget that). His weapons are ranged, and while they are traceable, in the heat of a battle it is hard to notice where the arrows are coming from. 

And Jack isn't even trying to cause a ruckus. She isn’t using her full potential- isn’t bothering to attack any of the Endermen. The others, the ones who have been a team for years, and have already accepted Jack with open arms, can handle that. She isn’t going to play too well with them- doesn’t know their codes and doesn’t know their methods. For now, she’ll help in the only way she can. She isn’t here for hunting down their enemies or avenging the lives already taken. She’s just here to ensure that no other lives will be lost to a fight that isn’t theirs.

She’s running down the street, now, leaping over damaged streets and piles of debris. Rubble lines the sidewalks, where buildings have collapsed, and abandoned cars were left in the Austin traffic. She has to dodge the demolished buildings- she has to dodge the cars- she has to dodge so many Endermen. And she has to do it quickly or it won’t get done at all.

Countless blocks ahead, there is a family piling out of a building with a police officer ushering them away. A baby, curled up in its mother’s arms. A six year old, hanging onto his father’s hand and being led out into a warzone. An Enderman, only twenty feet from them and getting closer with every second.

Jack runs. She runs and runs and sprints and sprints. When it isn’t enough- when the Enderman is only ten feet away and she is ripping the shield off of her arm, ignoring the way the razor sharp edges scrape against her skin. She hauls it back, but the Enderman is five feet away, and Jack is still five city blocks behind them. The family is screaming and the police officer is shooting, but his hands are shaking and he might as well be shooting at the floor, for all his accuracy.

The Enderman doesn’t fire at them- doesn’t need to. They’re creatures that enjoy playing with their food and this family will die without a gun being raised.

Jack throws the shield when the alien is less than two feet away. She doesn’t have time to aim- can’t risk letting the Enderman hurt someone, because Captain America doesn’t trust that she can use her own weapon.

She can’t. It soars over the Enderman’s head, and the family is left defenseless, because Captain America can’t use her own weapon.

The father screams- loud and piercing- as the alien reaches for his child. The mother jerks away, carrying her baby with her. She runs and the policeman follows her- too occupied with saving his own life to help rescue a child.

She desperately glances back at where she’d thrown her shield, hoping for it to bounce back into her arms, like an incredibly unsafe boomerang. She finds it lodged into the wall of a building. It won’t be boomeranging anytime soon.

There’s nothing she can do. These people are going to die and Jack can’t run fast enough to stop them.

The Enderman is reaching out, grabs the hand of the child and pulls him away from his father. The man screams again, desperation evident in his yell. The alien just shoves him back, pushing him against the wall and letting his head crack against the metal.

Two freakishly long hands grasp the child’s head, and- he’s going to snap a six year old’s neck, and the father is going to watch, and Jack can’t do anything to stop it, and-

The Enderman stares blankly at the child, purple pupils dilating. It’s black skin darkens, even more than Jack thought possible, as if it is sucking the energy out of this child. The boy is crying, but he doesn’t look any different from before. He just seems more scared and less hopeful.

The Enderman lets go of the boy’s head as its skin continues to blacken. The boy runs towards his injured father, who grabs him by the legs and hauls him onto his shoulders. The man is running, before Jack can even process what’s happening.

The alien drops, like a stone, and doesn’t get back up.

Though Jack is still a city block away, she can see the shaft of an arrow, plunged into the fallen Enderman’s side. She breathes a sigh of relief and runs towards the father to lead him back to his cowering wife.

As she leads them back, listening to an array of curses from the man and sobs from the child, she glances up at the building, that Gavin is shooting from, and gives a nod of thanks. If he could see the Enderman from hundreds of feet away, Jack has no doubt that he can see her acknowledgement of his heroism. Even so, she’ll have to thank him more personally, later.

When she drops the two civilians off, none of them respond. They’re all too shocked to even notice that she’s there. She just leads them away, towards the outskirts of the city, and tells them to run as far as they can. The woman is the one to take lead, still not acknowledging that Jack is even there. She grabs hold of her husband’s arm, and tugs him forward. He follows, eyes glazed over and both hands on his son’s shoulders. He’s traumatized, but he’ll live and that is what matters.

The police officer is nowhere to be found- must have run off, at some point. She just hopes he doesn’t get caught in more trouble. He’ll be reprimanded later, of course, he did abandon his duty in the city’s greatest time of need, but Jack doesn’t really mind that. She doesn’t want the police here, anyway. Besides Lindsay and Gavin (who might have supervision, because there is no way that he could have seen that enemy) there aren’t many ordinary humans who can handle an army of Endermen. There’s Geoff, but he has his suit. There’s Ray, but he turns into a giant purple monster, so he’s not all that ordinary.

C Team could have done it. They’d faced Source Block weaponry and come out of it, alright. They’d faced an entire army and only one of them hadn’t made it out. C Team could have beaten these aliens.

If only it was 1944, when Ryan was alive, and Grob was alive, and Shadles was alive, and Dooley was alive, and Bragg was alive, and why did so many of them have to die, along the way?

She keeps moving, and lets the memories of her team stay behind. She has to do her job. She has to keep fighting- has to make sure that she doesn’t keep falling into the trap of her memories. The trap that she seems to constantly fall into.

She hasn’t seen Geoff in a while, though there are only a few skyscrapers in Austin. She should, at least occasionally, see him flying through the air and shooting Endermen out of the sky. Come to think of it, shouldn’t she also have seen the Hulk? Or Mogar? It’s been a long time since she has seen any of them.

Well, there’s only one place that they could be.

She looks up at the sky, again, focusing on the clouds that are layered just above Gavin’s hideout. Deliberate, then. Mogar wouldn’t impede Gavin’s sight in a mission like this. Which means that he is probably where the storm clouds are thickest, where thunder is striking down on ground and building alike.

Of course, the thick of the clouds is by the roof of the tallest building in Austin.

\---

As it turns out, Gavin and Lindsay followed her train of thought, as well. Gavin was already there, holding an arrow with a long metal wire hanging down from it’s notch. There’s another arrow- very similar to the one that he is holding- that is lodged into the wall of another office building that Jack passed on her way to get to this one. She really hopes that he wasn’t using those rope arrows to travel, but she wouldn’t put it past him.

Lindsay isn’t much better. While she could have easily used the stairs, like Jack did, instead she is leaning on a large metal board, that looks like she stole it from one of the Endermen. Jack hasn’t seen one of them before- they must have been in the thick of the fighting, while Jack had been far from the center. Apparently though, judging by the broken glass of the window, Lindsay must have broken into the top floor of a skyscraper. It’s safe to assume that that is a hoverboard.

(And of course it is, because in the 21st century, everything has been invented! Jack spent the past few days in a giant Helicarrier, several hundred feet above the water. Why shouldn’t hoverboards exist? The 21st century doesn’t make any sense, anyway! Hoverboards aren’t that much of a jump.)

Geoff has obviously flown here, and Mogar probably did, as well. Jack doesn’t really know how Narvaez climbed the building, since there are no signs of obvious damage from the outside, but somehow he made it. He is still human, too, which is a miracle of itself. It would not be fun to face the Hulk, right now. Or ever, really.

Jack hadn’t had quite as grand of an entrance. She’d simply run the 56 floors from the lobby to the roof. It didn’t look like much from below- just another building. She’d seen bigger, in Hydra warehouses- she’d run more. It couldn’t be so difficult a run.

She’s panting when she reaches the top, and lets her hands fall to her knees. Gavin is smirking, whispering a “You owe me 20 bucks,” to Lindsay, and Jack doesn’t even know why. It was obviously a bet, but what for? That she would be stupid enough to scale the building? That she would be tired from the run? That the ordinary people would be able to defeat the superhuman in a race that she hadn’t been warned of?

It’s not exactly a fair race, if the last was the bet they set. She hadn’t even known to come here! Besides, she’d been able to sprint through 56 flights in under two minutes. She isn’t that terrible a runner. She would like to see _t_ _ hem  _ try to run that far that fast. Gavin probably wouldn’t make it six feet, before collapsing.

Mogar, apparently isn’t in the mood for their bets. His sword is still pressed in his hand, and he is pointing it at the heart of a storm cloud. The blue sword is sparking in a way that is eerily similar to the Source Block, except this time, the sparks are gold instead of blue.

“He’s up there.” Mogar says, simply, in a way that makes Jack think that he has explained this to the other heroes, before. He doesn’t even look at them- too focused on conjuring the thick grey cloud, above them.

“So, what’s the plan, Mogar?” Jack asks, because she is new here. She can’t be the one making plans, that much is clear. She is the greenhorn- the new fish. The others trust her, in a way that anyone would trust Captain America, the stuff of legends, but they don’t trust her as a friend. They can rely on her shield- they know that much- but not her mind. They won’t respect her for that, not when they have been trusting each other for so long. Right now, the others need to plan, and Jack can give some input if she needs to.

She might have been a leader, before, but not here. Not yet.

Mogar finally glances at her, eyes narrowed and head tilted. His mouth is half open, lips curled into something emulating disgust. 

“Don’t call me Mogar,” he says. “It’s Michael.”

And that is strange, to say the least. Jack hadn’t expected that. ‘Michael’ isn’t something meant for the general public. ‘Michael’ is something meant for his friends, like Lindsay, and Gavin, and Geoff, and Narvaez. Mogar, and Narvaez too, are separate from Jack. They aren’t friends. They aren’t close. Jack hasn’t said two words to them. Mogar shouldn’t be asking her to call him Michael, just like Narvaez shouldn’t be asking her to call him Ray. Jack is just a symbol- not a friend.

But she tosses that aside, because for the time being, they are facing an enemy that wants all of humanity dead, and Jack just replies: “Alright. So, what’s the plan, Michael?”

“I don’t know,” Mo-Michael responds. “Geoff, what’s the plan?”

“Blow those fuckers up? I don’t know. What’s our plans, usually?”

“Try not to die?” Lindsay offers. 

Geoff nods, and looks back at Jack. “I like that plan. Sounds good, Cap-y?”

“That sounds like a terrible plan.” Jack says, because _h_ _ oly shit,  _ how are they  _ alive? _

“That sounds like most of our plans, actually.” Gavin says, not making her feel any better.

“You’re not wrong.” Narvaez agrees. His hands are crossed over his chest and he is nodding along, like this is completely normal.

How many times have they gone on missions with “Don’t die” as their sole objective? How many times have Earth’s last defense ran into battle, headfirst, with no plan and even less preparation? How did the world make it to the 21st century?

No wonder Jack has, apparently, been famous within S.H.I.E.L.D.’s stories. Apparently, she was the last competent superhero!

“All in favor of not dying?” Geoff asks, and oh-great. At least their horrible strategies are democratic!

Four hands rise into the air, and they don’t put them down until Jack raises hers. Apparently, stupidity has to be unanimous, here. Good to know.

“Kdin’s up there,” Michael says, using his sword to gesture above his cloud. “Anyone who can fly, go get him. Anyone who can’t- find a fucking way. We’re not here to baby you dickheads.” Well, at least that’s more of a plan than they offered, before. 

“I can take Gavin. He’s scrawny, enough.” Lindsay announces. Before any of them can ask how, exactly, she plans to do that, she shifts the hoverboard, slightly. It scrapes against the floor, a mound of metal against tile. It isn’t the most pleasant sound that Jack has ever heard.

“I’ll take the Cap,” Geoff says, giving her a reassuring grin. It doesn’t work. “It’s high time we see what she’s made of.”

“I’m gonna guess flesh, bones, and blood. Maybe a superserum or two.” Narvaez comments, sarcastically. When Geoff glares at him, he doesn’t flinch.

“Just one serum and a really bright light.” Jack replies. There are only 20 people, in all of history, who could understand that joke, and only one of them is still alive. It’s wasted on them, but Jack doesn’t really mind. There’s no one else to share that joke with, anyway. Might as well waste it with the few people, in this century, that Jack has actually spent more than five minutes with.

“Speaking of that, fuck you,” There’s a hint of humor in Narvaez's voice, but there is also a purple glint in his eyes, and Jack has to stop herself from taking a step back. Humor or not, the Hulk is dangerous, and Jack isn’t going to risk it. Narvaez doesn’t say anything else- just walks over to the window that Lindsay demolished on her way into the building.

“Don’t jump.” Geoff says, a little more disappointed than anything else. Jack hasn’t even had the chance to think about why Ray is there, but apparently, Geoff is used to this. Of course he is.

“Are we done here?”

“Ray, no.” Lindsay, this time, as chastising as Geoff, but there is something else in her voice. A slight smirk plastered on her face, as if she knows what he is about to do and is eagerly awaiting it. 

"Ray, yes," Ray says. He kicks a broken panel of glass- watches as a shard breaks off, propelled by his kick down the side of the building. He stares until it hits the ground. "Hulk smash."

He takes a step out of the window, and his foot doesn't touch ground. He just falls, like a weight has been attached to his leg. A penny off of the Empire State Building. A plane, nosediving.

Lindsay is laughing, Moga-Michael is nodding, Gavin is grinning, and Geoff is just scowling. Out of all of them, Geoff seems to be the most reasonable.

A man just fell out of the sky, and they don't even care enough to watch him fall? How often does he do this? How does he survive?

She sprints to the window, sliding her shield off of her back as she moves. She can catch him- she's sure of it. She can use the shield to break her fall and she can save them both. 56 stories is nothing. She has faced worse odds and come out all right.

Lindsay isn't laughing, when Jack jumps.

The wind is rushing past her, slowing her descent. She can feel it, pressing up against her shield and the material of her suit. It's moving quickly, faster than it did on the zipline, but she doesn't pay it much mind. She needs to move fast. Needs to keep going, so Ray can survive. Needs to move, move, move, move, move!

She straightens, so that her head is facing the ground, and her feet are angled towards the sky. She doesn't have much time and she doesn't have another chance. Ray is a human. She needs to save him, before he gets himself killed.

Her shield is causing some resistance, but she can't help that. She needs to use it break her fall, once she has Ray, safe and sound. She tries to move it, so that the star is facing the building, and the sides are angled towards the ground, but it’s harder to move that back into position, before she lands, so she lets it stay. At least there is less wind rushing through her hair, when she has her shield blocking it off. 

She doesn’t know how close the ground is- can’t see it past her shield. She can’t even see Ray and that isn’t good. It isn’t a good idea to lose sight of him, when she is trying to save his life.

She’s been falling for a long time. It can’t have been more than fifteen seconds, but it feels like she has been there for hours. With adrenaline pouring through her veins, fifteen seconds feels like a lifetime.

Somewhere above her, she can hear screaming, but the words are lost to the wind. It sounds male- not quite high enough to be a female, but not quite deep enough to be anyone, but one of the other heroes. It’s not Lindsay, and it’s not Ray, and Gavin would be suicidal if he tried to save her, so it has to be either Michael or Geoff.

(There is a cruel part of her brain that says “Maybe, it’s Ryan,” but she shuts that down, before it can even fully formulate that thought.)

She’s about to call back to them that she’s fine. She can handle this. She hasn’t faced this exact situation before, but she can adapt. She can save Ray, before he hits the ground. She can save both of them, and then she can yell at them, because if he hit the ground, the Hulk probably would kill them all and-

Oh.

She wastes a second, shifts the shield so that it is only partially obscuring her vision. She looks down, and watches as a purple figure crashes against the ground, smashing concrete into rubble. She stares at the hole, left in the floor- stares at the creature that shrugs off the pain and rolls back onto its feet. Stares at the Hulk, and realizes why the others were only laughing, when Ray jumped.

Twenty seconds have gone by, since she leapt out of the building, and she is already regretting this. Of course, she is.

She moves- lets the shield fall back into its previous position. She risked death with this rescue. She risked leaving Earth with five defenders, instead of six. She risked a lot for absolutely nothing.

Jack is an idiot.

Jack has wings on the sides of her head, but they won’t do anything for this fall.

The ground isn’t too far away- she noticed that, in the few minutes between lifting her shield and setting it back down. She’s only a few dozen feet from the ground, maybe seven stories away from impact. She doesn’t have much time to prepare herself, now. She is going to hit the ground, and she is going to hit it hard!

She shuts her eyes, relaxes her muscles, and lets herself revel in the weight in her chest as gravity pulls her down. For some reason, it’s a nice feeling- to fall from the sky- to feel the weight of the world pulling her down, ready to squash her like a fly on a windshield. It’s relaxing in a way that it really shouldn’t be.

She’s about to hit the ground- she knows that. Knows it in the way that the air is moving around her. Knows it in the way that the shield feels slightly heavier, the more gravity tugs at it. Knows it in the way that she can hear the Hulk roaring, like he is only a foot away. She knows that she is going to hit it, soon.

She can still hear that faint screaming, only it is getting louder as the seconds go by. It shouldn't be that way. It should be getting fainter, the farther away that she gets. It shouldn't be getting clearer. She shouldn't hear "Cap!" over and over again, like some strange chant. It doesn't make sense!

(A part of her thinks “ _Is_ _this what Ryan felt like?_ ” She wants to throw it away, wants to ignore it like she has ignored those thoughts for the rest of this fall, but this one sticks. Because is it? Is she falling, like he fell? Hearing screams of friends, calling his name like it is the last thing they will ever say? Is this what it was like?)

"Hold on!" The voice screams, again, and Jack doesn't know what to think about that. What is she holding onto? Is she supposed to be waiting? Are they saying cling to the shield? Are they talking to Ray?

She has been falling at the same rate this entire time, has grown used to the speed of her descent. That's why it is so strange when she feels something wrap around her chest, before she starts going  _ faster _ .

It isn’t the same calming fall as it has been for the past 20 seconds. It’s violent- jarring. It’s two hands firmly holding onto her back and a body pressing itself up against her front. Their skin is hard, rough- stronger than any sort of cloth or skin or material should be, when it is attached to a person.

Is this the Hulk, repaying her for trying to save him?

No, the Hulk isn’t the sort to care for the lives of others, even if they die trying to save it. Ray doesn’t have enough control over him- that is clear in his files. It’s two separate people, attached to one feeble body and one gigantic cretin. The gigantic cretin isn’t going to listen to the feeble body, in the same way that the feeble body won’t listen to the gigantic cretin. They are separate beings, entirely. Neither cares what the other thinks.

The Hulk is not going to help Jack, anytime soon.

There is a heavy breathing in Jack’s ears that sounds louder than even the wind does. She wants to open her eyes- wants to see who this man is, who is clinging to her like she is his saving grace.

They are still falling, or maybe they’re flying. Jack can’t tell the difference, anymore. Not when she’s been soaring through the sky for what feels like a lifetime.

“You’re a fucking idiot! Who jumps out a window?” The voice cracks, in a way that Jack hasn’t heard before, but still, she recognizes this voice. She doesn’t recognize the panic or the genuine care within that voice, but she recognizes the rough sound.

“Ray?” Jack tries, a feeble attempt at a joke. 

“Babies!” Geoff exclaims, tightening his grip around her a little more. She still hasn’t opened her eyes, but she has no doubt that it is him. The metal hands clenching against her skin are proof enough.

“You know, this is your fault, too, Geoff.” For some reason, she feels safe. This man is, according to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files, Sorola’s son. He’s the offspring of the most significant traitor in S.H.I.E.L.D. history. He is the man who sold more weapons than anyone else on the face of the Earth.

But he is also the man who invented a technology that could change the face of warfare, by rendering all of America’s enemies inferior, and still decided to keep that technology to himself. He is the man who, according to Gavin, rescued her from the ice. He is the man, who flew down to help her, when she made a stupid mistake and jumped out of a window.

It’s not just him, either. It’s all five of them. Lindsay, with her ever present smirk. Gavin, with his stupid comments and stupider arrows. Michael, who for some reason allows her to call him that. Ray, who Jack hasn’t seen much of, but who has held up well in the fight.

She feels oddly comfortable with them and no amount of denial will change that. For now, she will just have to deal with it, until the battle is over. Maybe, if she is lucky, she will have time to worry about it, after. Even then, she hasn’t had a moment to herself since Lester betrayed Hydra. 

Without any warning- without any hint to drive her away from her thoughts- Geoff moves. There’s a burning at her feet, where his rockets are propelling them forwards. Except, in this case, forward is the ground. Forward is being splattered into the pavement like an unfortunate bird.

Except, they aren’t going down for long. Geoff turns, in the same way that Jack did. He flips, backwards, dragging Jack with him. They are only a few feet from the concrete, but Geoff is moving without worry. The rockets push them down, and then right, and then finally, they direct them upwards. They soar away from the ground- away from possible demise, and they soar towards the sky.

Jack opens her eyes, and has to let out a relieved sigh.

The crater was only a floor below them. If Ray hadn’t hit the ground first, and formed that hole in the ground, Jack would have been a thin splattering of meat. That is how close she was to that collision.

She really is going to have to thank Geoff, after this.

“What the fuck was that?” The older (younger?) man yells, loud enough that Jack can hear him over the roaring winds. God, the ascent is louder than her fall.

“Ray-” Jack tries, but Geoff doesn’t let her finish.

“Ray is the fucking Hulk! He can handle himself!” Jack can’t see his face, through his metal mask, but she can sense his harsh demeanor softening, once he is finished yelling. He must have noticed something in her expression, because suddenly his voice is calm, and caring, and far too familiar. “Don’t try that again, Cap.”

She doesn’t like that nickname, but she doesn’t say anything about it. She isn’t going to bitch at the man, who quite possibly just saved her life. Her plans usually don’t end well, and the one that involved jumping out of a skyscraper, without a parachute, was probably her worst. Almost as bad as taking on an army with five men and a shield.

No one has ever called Jack a genius.

“I promise, I won’t,” she pauses, thinking that over for a second. Her job involves constant danger. To say that she wouldn’t ever try anything like that, again, would be a lie beyond belief. “Today.” She adds, just to be clear.

“You’re almost as bad as Gavin.” Geoff mutters. She can’t see his face, but she hopes he is smiling.

“So, what’s your plan?” Jack asks, as they soar past the skyscraper. They’re faster than she fell- reaching the broken window within seconds. They don’t pause, Jack just watches the glass fall out of her line of sight, and Geoff doesn’t even spare a glance.

“Well, our plan was to team up to take this guy on. Hasn’t changed, just yet.” He says, nonchalantly. He is acting like he has gone through with this plan a thousand times, before, but Jack is fairly certain that he has not fought an army of Enderman that often.

“What about after that?”

“Well, the Hulk isn’t going to be there to help us. He’ll be covering shit down below, and, uh,” he trails off, clearly unsure about what should happen next. “We’ll fight that bag of dicks.”

“That’s it? We’re not gonna try to lure him to solid ground or anything?” She is being slightly too invasive and she knows it, but this is important. If this plan fails, one, or all of them, could be killed.

Even with a group of people that she barely knows, Jack doesn’t think she can handle that again.

“We’re the Hunters. We deal with things. We adapt. That’s our job, Cap. Yours, too. So, get used to it, before I,” he pauses, as if he does not even have any threats to use. “Fire you?” It sounds more like a question than a threat, and it has Jack laughing.

“Do you not know?” She says, when her laughter dies down into chuckles.

“Meh. I’ll deal with it, when it comes to it.”

“When it comes to what?”

“You know, you not doing your job. Just- I’m gonna focus on flying.” Geoff sounds hesitant, but Jack doesn’t spare a second to think about it. His reasoning is sound. After rescuing her from the fall, it wouldn’t be fit to let her die by dropping her onto the building. They could focus on talking, later. For now, they are in the midst of a battle and they don’t have the time to spare for talks.

Now is the time for action. That Jack can do.

\---

Geoff says “Go!” and then she is falling.

The ground is solid this time- that she can appreciate. There aren’t many good things in Jack’s life, right now, but that is definitely one of them. The fact that there is ground (or would it be considered clouds? Jack doesn’t even know, anymore) means that she can fight, without Geoff holding her hands.

For a quick second, because she doesn’t seem to have any control over her thoughts, she wonders when she started calling him Geoff. Then, she remembers that she is in a firefight, and she really needs to start thinking about these things outside of battle.

She rolls, holding the shield below her skull to soften the landing. It works and she manages to push herself onto her feet, easily. Her helmet is gone- lost at some point during her fall- but she doesn’t really mind. Her hair is short enough that it doesn’t bother her, as she strolls towards Kdin.

As it turns out, she and Geoff were pretty late to the fighting.

Michael is already there, holding Kdin in the air, by his throat. The Troll Master (is that the name Michael mentioned, when they were first rallying for battle?) is struggling, clawing at the hands, like he can force them to let him go. Michael doesn’t relent, just keeps staring at Kdin, eyes narrowed and fingers taunt.

Gavin and Lindsay are behind him, watching the exchange with the same level of disinterest. Both were prepared for a fight- Gavin, with his arrow already nocked, and Lindsay, with her fists- if Kdin even tries to make a move. There are no chances, here. No risks that they plan to take. The others barely even notice her arrival, too enamoured by the display before them, and the parts that they have to play.

Jack takes their cues and shifts her shield into a more comfortable position. She slings her right hand through one of the loops, but doesn’t bother with the other. It can still protect her from attacks, but she won’t be able to move it so easily. It will be slightly looser, slightly different from what she is comfortable with. She can adapt, but it will be more difficult. This way, at least, she has easier access to the more offensive capabilities of her shield.

“How do I turn it off?” Michael asks, fists clenching even more than they had been before.

“How do you turn what off?” Kdin asks, unimpeded by the hand on the throat. There can’t be any oxygen flowing into his lungs, not with the way that Michael’s hand is white-knuckled. Despite this, the man is grinning, widely.

“You do know I can drop you, right?” To further emphasize, Michael glances down at the ground, and the grey cloud layer begin to dissipate. A thin hole, barely a foot long in any direction, directly under Kdin. The Troll Master doesn’t even bother to look down, just keeps grinning his grin and shaking his head, with the little movement that he has.

“He wants to, you know,” Lindsay says, a little too excitedly. “I think it would make his day.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t. Right, Mogar?” He sounds a little too hopeful, and Michael doesn’t waste a second in crushing it.

“I pushed you off of that shitty fucking rainbow bridge and I’d do it, again.” The god says, bluntly. Yeah, Jack would like to hear that story.

Kdin does not seem to look back on that memory with much fondness. His face is a grimace, and his ever present grin has finally been replaced. In its stead is a frown, that seems to suit the man more than a smile ever did.

That says something, but Jack doesn’t know him well enough to say what that something is. She will just have to pretend that she understands, because Lindsay is laughing and Gavin is nodding, and there isn’t any doubt in Jack’s mind that they already know this story. Jack doesn’t want to seem out of place, here. She is already behind by 70 years. She does not need that gap to get any worse.

“I don’t really understand you,” Kdin observes. There is no insults, no sarcasm, no cruelty. Just honest observation from the God of Lies. “You of all people should be against Achievement City. Didn’t they banish you?”

“This isn’t about Achievement City.” Michael mutters, barely loud enough to hear.

“Right. That’s why you changed your name, right? Mogar was an honorable soldier, right? Michael is just a little human protector, working for the greater good.” Here is where the sarcasm lies.

That is one of the worst arguments that Jack has ever heard. What’s wrong with the greater good? What’s wrong with protecting the weak? What’s wrong with fighting for someone else? Is that supposed to be something to be ridiculed? 

There is nothing wrong with the greater good. There is nothing wrong with helping the weak and protecting the innocent. Kdin has spent too many years with the gods, if he really thinks that Michael should be offended by that.

“Mogar was a puppet to you,” Michael says. “Fuck Mogar.”

Maybe that is why he let Jack call him Michael. Maybe he just wanted to distance himself from that- from his life among gods and Kdins. Maybe it isn’t that Michael trusts her, but that he knows that Jack will follow his command. She doesn’t know, but maybe.

“As if I had any control over you. You were heir to the throne. I was just your comic relief of a brother.”

“You still are,” The man snaps. There is no pity, there, only a cold and hard fury. “Only now you’re a murderer, too.”

There’s a low rumbling, beneath Jack’s feet, that she barely even notices. Gavin and Lindsay do, both of them glancing around for the source of it, and only stopping when they glances at Jack. Did they think she did it? Jack might be able to do a lot of things, but making a cloud tremble is not within her power.

She ignores it, though. If they are distracted, then she needs to focus on Kdin, all the more. If Michael makes a mistake, and no one is paying attention, they could pay with their lives.

“That was rude. Honestly, what have I ever done to you?”

“How do I stop the portal?” Michael finally states, thankfully, ignoring Kdin’s comment. 

The trickster shakes his head, raising one eyebrow to the greatest extent that he can. It is, surprisingly, not too far.

“You don’t,” Kdin says, with confidence to spare. “You think we’re stupid enough to let you stop us? We’re not idiots, Mogar. We’re gods.”

“Bullshit.”

A hand comes to rest on Jack’s shoulder, and she jerks in surprise. She grabs hold of the hand, barely processing the metallic feel, and twists herself so that she can come face to face with this new threat. She already has her shield arm swinging and doesn’t intend to stop it.

“Woah,” Geoff says, softly, so as not to startle her, any further.. “Someone’s paranoid.”

It takes an enormous amount of effort not to slice through his armor, with a shield that is sharper and stronger than any sword. She manages though, and with all her strength she pulls back against her own momentum, until her weapon is barely inches away from Geoff’s face.

To his credit, he barely reacts.

“So,” The Iron Man says, looking at Jack and not the weapon she had threatened to impale him with. “What’d I miss?”

For the first time, Jack notices that her mouth feels dry.

“Uh, Kdin has a shitty idea of morality?”

“Not all that surprising. Anything else?”

Someone’s screaming- it’s hard to tell who it is, Michael and Kdin both have their reasons to yell- but Jack doesn’t pay it much attention. Lindsay and Gavin can protect Michael, if need be. Right now, Geoff needs her full attention.

He must have noticed that her muscles are all tensed, because his are as well. His shoulders are locked and his armored hands are tightly clenched. His knees are locked, like he is preparing to take flight at any moment, and his arms are outstretched enough that he could grab Jack during his ascent.

That is not encouraging.

“He says we can’t stop the Endermen.”

Geoff visibly relaxes and lets out a light sigh. That is much more encouraging.

“I’ve never known a bad guy who says we can beat him. Did red face tell you how to beat him?”

That brings back too many memories. Coal’s body burning, and Jack pulling back her arm so that she would not be taken by the flame. No screams or words. Just burning and dissolving skin. Faster than Gunerz, but more concentrated. It probably hurt just as much, if he even lived long enough to feel that pain.

Coal did not lose, either. He had only two goals, and with one of them, he succeeded. Jack was not a threat, anymore. Jack was an ice cube, in the middle of Siberia, and S.H.I.E.L.D. dissolved. Something tells Jack that he won.

_ ‘It means if I die here, today, there will be men to take my place. If you die here, today, you will be nothing but a bloody flag.’ _

If Coal was right, Jack did not really win. She drowned and Hydra flourished. She cut off one head, but left the body of the army. She left men to take his place, and she was just a patriotic icicle.

Hydra won.

“Uh, Jack?” Geoff must have noticed her thousand yard stare. Good. This is important.

“About Red Skull-”

Geoff shook his head, cutting her off with that simple movement. Apparently, he did not want to hear her explanation, because, even through his armor, Jack can tell that he is distracted.

“The idiots back at base have a missile heading right for us.” Geoff says, more shocked than angry. His voice is quiet- just high enough for Jack to hear him, but the other heroes do not know a thing.

“What?” And Jack can understand his shock. Why is their own organization firing at them? Why are they striking a city? There are thousands who are still evacuating. They can’t do that! “Why?”

But Geoff seems to be listening to someone else, on his radio, and Jack’s questions go unanswered.

“Just tell the others. I’ll- I can handle this. You have your radio, yeah?” Geoff says, almost too quickly for her to process.

She nods, because, in this century, a tiny device that fits in her ear is the equivalent of a radio. Maybe the 21st century is not that bad, after all.

“Great. Try not to be an idiot and try to close the portal. Hopefully, after I’m done with it, but hey, I can settle.” That sounds a little too ominous, and Jack wants to protest. Wants to reach out and grab his arm, but she is not fast enough. Geoff flies faster than she can move, and he flies away without another word.

On the other side of the cloud, Gavin and Lindsay are watching her. Both are still attentive- still focused on Kdin and Michael (and yes, it was definitely Michael who was screaming, because he still is), but they are also seemingly interested with Jack and Geoff. They probably saw his panic, and then his take off and realized that something is wrong.

Definitely not good, if they do not know about the missile. They are the experienced ones, here. They are the ones trained for situations like this. They are the spies- the modern S.H.I.E.L.D. They need to know.

She still does not know how to use her earpiece, so instead she breaks into a run. Not for the first time, she is thankful for just how efficient she became, after the serum. She is practically flying and it makes sense that she is in the clouds.

Maybe she can move faster than Geoff can fly.

Within seconds, she is across a cloud that is almost as large as the Helicarrier. She has to jump- force her momentum into a single leap, to slow her down- and for a second she forgets about the enhancement. She forgets about the cloud, the missile, the century, and the War.

Suddenly, she is small again, and she puts all of her might into the jump, because that is the only way to stop herself. She forgets, sometimes, and while she loves being Captain America, she cannot say that being Jack Pattillo did not have advantages.

Because, in this world, she is big, and putting all her might into a jump sends her 15 feet in the air, and all signs of smallness are gone. Jack is big, and she lands 10 feet behind Gavin and Lindsay. They do not even turn around to see her fly through the air, just to land and realize that solidified clouds are just as hard as rock, and the landing is not as soft as she expected.

She does not dwell on it for long, before she jogs back to the two spies. Does not even waste a breath, there.

“Geoff said we fired a missile at ourselves. Is there some sort of protocol about this kind of stuff?” Jack asks, just to be sure. Maybe Geoff is just flying off to do paperwork. Maybe there really is a bureaucratic method.

Lindsay hangs her head and Gavin pats her on the back, sympathetically.

“Fucking S.H.I.E.L.D..” Lindsay mutters, like this is a common occurrence. What the hell is wrong with this millennium, that government agents bomb their own men?

“Try to keep an eye on the Mog,” Gavin says, to Jack. He gestures to Michael, with two widely outstretched arms, before pointing at the sky. “We’ve got this.”

Lindsay prepares her hoverboard, but Gavin does not even bother. He already has a bow in hand and he only takes a second to swap his arrows. Once he does, he takes a running leap off of the edge of the cloud.

Seconds later, Jack hears what sounds like the squawking of a bird. Lindsay just sighs.

“You’ve got this, right? All you have to do is make sure that Michael doesn’t die. You can do that, right?” Lindsay asks, with genuine compassion in her voice, as if she understands that Jack is confused, and she is trying to help as much as she can.

“I’ve got him.” Jack promises.

\---

Michael is a violent man. Jack has never seen a fight this one sided, even during her spats behind movie theaters, when she would find herself bleeding on the trash bins, while assholes laid into her unconscious body. Michael is worse.

Because Kdin is bleeding green blood, and Michael is punching- kicking- elbowing- hitting him, over and over, until Jack can barely stand to watch.

(She still does. The Endermen killed people and Kdin summoned them. She can stand to watch this, even if she does not entirely approve of Michael’s methods.)

There are voices ringing through Jack’s ear, but they are too close and too loud, and it doesn’t take long to begin to block them out. Between Gavin’s screams, Lindsay’s laughter, and Geoff’s battle cries, there is a constant ringing that isn’t too difficult to ignore. 

Kdin’s scepter is lying, useless, on the ground, on the opposite end of the cloud. Jack hazards a look at it, but does not dwell on it for too long. If Kdin gets an edge over Michael, then she is the last line of defense. She needs to stay vigilant- needs her focus to be on nothing other than these two gods.

What is Geoff doing, right now? Is he arguing with S.H.I.E.L.D., threatening them, or taking matters into his own hands? He does not seem to rely on them very much- an infinite supply of green has that effect on people- so most likely, he would be doing this alone. If they launched an attack, they are not going to be so quick to unlaunch it.

“How do I stop the portal?” Michael asks, for the 19th time in the past minute. That is another sound that Jack is beginning to ignore. That same question- over and over and over. “Answer me!”

There must be no response, because Michael lets out a growl and all there is to be heard is the slap of skin on skin. Fist punching into face, until there is enough blood to create a new sound. A wet slap of skin on skin. It’s a welcomed change, after ten minutes of grunting and other repetitious sounds, that are practically ingrained in all three of their heads, by now.

“How do we stop the portal?” Michael repeats, and Jack has already forgotten how many times he has said it before.

“If you say ‘pretty please’, maybe I’ll answer.” Kdin snarks, but the effect of it is ruined by a mouth that is now only half-filled with teeth. The rest of them are scattered along the floor, in pieces.

It doesn’t matter. They are gods. Kdin can heal that, in seconds.

“You will answer me.” Michael warns, hand hovering over the hilt of his blade. His free hand is still pressed up against Kdin’s neck, but it does not seem to have much of an effect.

“Or what?” The trickster remarks, unfazed by Michael’s threats. Michael doesn’t even hesitate.

“Or Mogar will find a new playtoy.” He glides his sword out of its sheathe, and takes a half step back, in one smooth movement. He keeps swinging the blade, carefully, but without any apparent strain. To him, a gigantic diamond weapon weighs less than a feather. With as little effort as it takes him to move it, he could probably wield it with his pinky finger, alone.

The blade comes to a rest at Kdin’s throat, and Michael’s hand shifts out of the way, slightly. He still has a firm grip on the back of his neck, but the front is guarded by his weapon. If the horned man dares to move, at all, he will nick his skin, deeply. It is not as if Michael is not already exerting pressure. He just hasn’t pressed down hard enough to draw blood, yet.

“Use the scepter!” Kdin’s arm moves towards his throat, but, as if in warning, the blade sinks slightly deeper- just enough to draw a single bead of blood. The trickster responds without complaint, dropping his arm, faster than a human eye can process.

Michael glances back, for a moment, and stares at the scepter like he has a personal vendetta against him. The disgust on his face is not only clear, but practically physical.

Jack understands his apprehension. For all they know, this could be another trick. They had seen it on the Helicarrier, when Kdin had managed to worm his way out of their grasp. Michael has probably seen it a million times before, if they really are brothers. 

“Why should we trust you?” Jack states with none of the softness that her voice usually carries, around her friends and allies. This is the tone that she keeps for the villains- for Flynt Coal and Kdin Whatever-His-Name-Is. The tone that is cold, and harsh, and biting, in a way that the other heroes probably have not heard, before. A tone that is the stuff of legends, that Captain America used, when rescuing an entire infantry on her first field mission.

Kdin doesn’t blink at it.

“Why are you asking me questions, if you’re not gonna believe me?” The trickster says, with all the innocence that he can muster.

“Answer the question.” Michael growls, canines bared and claws digging into the back of Kdin’s neck.

“Because I stand nothing to gain by lying. See, if Captain Idiot over there dies, you’ll just kill me without hesitation. And if you die, the rest of your team will probably still find a way to kill me. I know when I’m beat, Michael, what can I say?”

Michael pauses, but he barely takes more than a second to think it over. Kdin lies when he has a reason to. Right now, the truth is the only way to get out of this situation. Kdin is too smart to lie, here.

“Get the scepter.” Michael says. When Kdin smiles, he digs his claws in a little deeper.

So Jack gets the scepter.

\---

“Geoff, status report?” Jack says, once they are satisfied that Kdin is dealt with. He is on the ground, half-crushed in Ray’s hands and barely conscious, at this point. If the Hulk cannot keep him in line, none of them can. Finally, they can spare time for Geoff’s situation.

A second too late.

“-better buy me some booze for this. None of that nightmare fuel, either.” Geoff sounds more panicked than his words imply. His voice cracks, more often than not, and Jack can imagine him trembling, while he flies.

What the hell is going on?

“Geoff, recap.” Michael demands, with more force than is really necessary.

It isn’t Geoff that responds, but Gavin, and that just makes Jack worry more.

“He’s flying into the portal. He’s got the missile with him. Gonna bloody bang up the Endermen.”

That gives Jack a pause.

“Wait- you said he’s flying  _ into _ the portal?” She exclaims, incredulously. She can’t even see it from here, but she can feel it looming, under her. “And you’re  _ letting  _ him?”

That is not a good idea. There are thousands of Endermen up there, enough to crush Geoff like an overly metallic bug. He is literally flying into his death.

“We don’t have a choice, do we? It’s that or we blow up the city!”

“You’re gonna let him fly up to his death?”

“He’s not gonna die. Don’t worry, Cap. We’ve had closer calls, before. A little too much, actually.” There is a small pause. “Just find a way to close the portal and wait for our signal.”

“I’m not closing the portal, if he’s in there.” Jack says, coldly. She has dealt with the loss of her teammates, three times now. Even if she has not worked with Geoff for long, she does not want him to be the fourth.

“Jack,” Lindsay says, softer than Gavin. It’s the first time anyone has said her name, since she fell into the ice, listening to three pleading voices in her ears. It catches her attention, easily. “He’s gonna make it. Trust in our awesomeness. Geoff is probably the most stubborn one out of all of us. He’s not going to be dying, anytime soon.”

“You’re right.” Because Jack is not stupid enough to let him.

“What’s the news?” Michael asks, attention drawn by her dismissal.

For the first time, Jack notices that he does not have the same equipment as the rest of them. Even Ray, when he is still human, is able to wear the earpiece. Michael is the only odd man out.

“Where’s your radio?”

“I don’t get one. Apparently, I short them out.” He lets a spark fly in his hand, to demonstrate, but it does not mean much to Jack.  She knows so little about these newfound technologies that she doesn’t even know how one would go about turning on an ordinary radio, let alone shorting out a miniature one. 

How do they work radios, anyway? Do they still have the knobs or do they use those glowing rectangles to access them?

“So, what’s going on?” Michael repeats, trying to catch Jack’s attention. She is easily distractible and she has a feeling that they are starting to realize that.

It took Jack less than a minute to explain, but it took Michael less than a second to live up to his title as God of Rage.

“Get the scepter. We need to keep this fucking idiot alive. Gods know how that will fucking work out,” The man snarls. “That jackass has no survival instincts, I swear to the gods.”

Jack does what he says- grabs the scepter, and waits for some sort of change. A feeling, or something, to rise up from the staff and into her body, granting her the powers of mind control, and whatever-the-hell-else Kdin had.

It never happens. The blade just sits firmly in her hands, unmoving and un-mind controlling. It must only work for Troll Masters, like Kdin.

Jack is almost disappointed by that. Almost.

“What now?” Jack asks, after she accepts that it is not going to grant her any magical powers.

“They should give you a signal, if they aren’t complete idiots,” Michael pauses. “I wouldn’t put it past them, though.”

“How long have they been a team?” Jack asks, because she needs to understand why they work like this. Why one of them flying off into danger is not grounds for panic. Why one of them going off to die is not objectionable, but is instead encouraged. She needs to understand that, before she does anything else with them.

Because most of her team died and left her behind, and she doesn’t want that to be in vain. She will not let herself be killed, because of the incompetence of superheroes. Maybe Captain America- the soldier- can do that, but Jack Pattillo cannot.

“Gav’s been working with Lindsay for seven years, I think- weird fucks keep that shit secret- and, uh, Geoff’s been with them for four. Ray joined in a few years ago and I got here around the same time. It’s been alright- it’d be better if Gavin wasn’t goddamn stupid, but we’re used to it.

“You’ve been working together for years?” A nod answers. “But you don’t care that he’s trying to get himself killed?”

Jack glances up at the sky and Michael just sighs.

“If I panicked everytime one of those fuckups tried to kill themselves, I’d be back in Achievement City, because I wouldn’t want to deal with that shit,” He looks her in the eyes, and his voice softens when he notices her expression- eyebrows furrowed with worry, teeth gnashing, and frown lines sunken deep in her skin. “He’ll be fine. He knows what he’s doing.”

Before Jack has the chance to respond, her earpiece explodes with screams. Lindsay and Gavin, both voices overlapping the other, merging into a strange mix of sounds that do not match in the slightest.

“I think they’re signalling.” Jack tells Michael. It’s more of a question than a statement, but Michael just nods and holds out his hand.

“Give me that,” He says. His voice is much quieter than Gavin and Lindsay’s, and Jack can barely hear him, at all. She understands his meaning, though, and hands over the scepter without complaint. “You might want to shut your eyes. It gets blinding.”

“It’s fine. I’ve seen it, before.” 

She has seen it burn men to death, until they are nothing but ash marks on the ground. Closing a portal can’t be anything worse than watching the blue sparks dance through their bodies- devouring everything in its path, along the way. A quick death, but so mindlessly gorey that, until the day she dies, she will see that every time she closes her eyes. The sight of red muscle being torn away by blue energy until black dust is left floating through the air.

She can handle a portal shutting.

“Suit yourself.” Michael mutters, without sparing another glance at her. His eyes are on the scepter, ready to summon enough energy to close a doorway between dimensions.

“Now!” Lindsay yells, urgently, just loudly enough to be heard over Gavin.

If Jack was not still on the cloud- if she was on the ground, with Ray, Lindsay, and Gavin, she would have seen an armored body come falling out of the sky. She would see limbs hanging limply and an electronic suit without light. She would see him falling- falling- falling, like everyone seems to fall.

But Jack is on top of the world, and just tells Michael to get started. The god does not hesitate.

There is no blinding show of light- no sound that is loud enough to burst eardrums- no power that turns Michael’s skin from red to blue to black. There is nothing, but a shining blue scepter than shone a little brighter, for a second, before settling back down, immediately.

A bit lackluster for the defining point of this battle, but Jack is not going to complain about that. Lackluster is good. Lackluster means no one gets hurt. Lackluster means they won. She can handle boring, if it means victory.

“Oh, sausages!” She hears Gavin chirp, in her ear. He sounds urgent, panicked, despite their sudden success. Shouldn’t he be celebrating? Shouldn’t he be firing off celebration arrows- equipped with enough fireworks to fill up the Austin skyline? He should not sound worried. “Jack- you’re the jumpy guy! Catch him!”

Catch him? Catch who?

“I don’t think I can reach him.” Lindsay, this time, though she lacks her usual excitement. There is something dull about her voice- some realization that sucked the happiness out of her.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks, catching Michael’s attention. He looks up at her, head tilted, as if he is asking ‘what’s wrong?’

“Geoff’s falling!” The archer yells, and Jack doesn’t even have to think.

“Geoff’s falling.” She tells Michael, and then, just like Gavin, she is running to the edge of the cloud, until she runs out of ground to run on.

Then, she is falling, because she cannot let another friend do that. He is not going to die- he is not going to lose it all, for one stupid trick. He is not going to die- he is not going to die- he is not allowed to die!

(That sick part of her brain tells her that she thought that about Ryan, too. It was ‘ This is not death- this is not inevitable. Everyone will make it out of this and everyone will be fine’, and then it was ‘Jack… I-’,  and then it was falling- falling- falling, like Geoff is falling- falling- falling, and this is death. This is inevitable. No one will make it out of this and no one will be fine.)

The air is rushing past her, but she doesn’t care, anymore. Just like with Ray, her mind is focused. She will rescue Geoff, now- she will save him. This is not death- this is not inevitable. It can’t be.

She doesn’t even know if Geoff is even directly below her, but she is falling with the speed of a cannonball. He weighs more, but she is curling up, and he is not. She will drop like a stone, and hopefully, he will not.

This time, when a hand wraps around her chest, she just hears “Holy shit! You really are a fucking lunatic,” before Michael is pulling her down. 

She knows it’s him- her eyes are open, this time. She can see the face paint, can feel the bear hood, can smell the stink of fur and sweat, that seems to follow Michael everywhere he goes. This is Michael and this is his way of helping.

“Find Geoff!” She tells him, trying to shake her way out of his grip. He just tightens his hold, refusing to let her slip out of his clawed hands.

“If you’d calm down for a fucking second, and looked down-” He can’t even finish his sentence, before Jack is staring at the ground, like it possesses the secrets of the universe, that can only be unlocked by fierce staring.

And Geoff is below them, but he is not alone. He is just a limp doll in a single gigantic purple hand that is hefting him up, like a trophy, holding him in the sky, while his limbs swing below him. Unconscious, but- hopefully- alive.

“He’s- He’s fine.” Jack whispers, unable to speak any louder than that pitiful wisp of a sound. He really is fine. This was not death. This was not inevitable. He is safe in the Hulk’s arm.

Safety and the Hulk were two things that Jack always thought were mutually exclusive, but now, they are perfectly paired.

Finally, she stills, letting Michael fly unhindered. As much as that should terrify her- to be stuck midair, letting a magical man hold her up- she doesn’t really mind. She has seen a lot of shocking things- from magical cubes, to gigantic Helicarriers, to Puerto Ricans who turn into monsters. This barely scrapes the bottom of the barrel of strangeness in her life. 

At least Michael is magic. Geoff doesn’t even have an excuse for how he manages to fly- he might have one, but Jack probably wouldn’t understand his technobabble, anyway, so she would ignore it, either way.

“Can you go a little faster than slow?” Jack asks, this time, with a voice that is more than a crack.

“I can drop you, if you want.” Michael offers, without hesitation.

Jack keeps her mouth shut, this time.

\---

They land, softly, and Jack doesn’t waste a second. She is already running towards the purple monster, who is screaming (or is that roaring?) at Geoff, like he has a personal vendetta against him.

Jack likes to think that she is clever. Back in the day, she was the tactician- the leader of her little squadron. She knew what she was doing- still knows, considering the fact that ‘back in the day’ was three days ago, for her. She is smarter than most people give her credit for.

Which is why it is so shocking- even to Jack- that she jumps between a monster and a metal man, hefting her shield like a weapon in order to protect a man that she has not even known for a week. It is stupid, in the most ridiculous way possible, and if Ryan was beside her, he’d be bitching about how the nights behind alleyways were smarter than this.

But he isn’t, and Jack doesn’t even have that support, beside her. She is just one woman standing up against a monster for one reason and one reason, alone. 

Geoff might be Sorola’s son, but he is also the man who has led a team that has saved countless lives for no tangible reason, at all. He could have sold that suit to anyone and he could have been a thousand times richer than he is, because of it. He’s a good man and Jack is not going to let Ray hurt him.

But before Jack can say a word, there is a low groan from behind her back, startling her and almost drawing her attention away from Ray.

“Goddammit,” And that’s Geoff’s voice and he really isn’t dead- he’s alive- he’s alive- he’s alive! He is a living breathing person and not a crumpled corpse in the snow (and no, this moment is for celebration. She will not think about Ryan- she will not think about- dammit). “I told you bitches not to give me nightmare fuel!”

And Jack still has no idea what nightmare fuel is, but she is so relieved, she doesn’t care. Geoff is alive and safe and fine. 

She looks up and there is no portal in the sky- no Enderman floating in the air. The ground is dusty with debris and the sky has enough clouds that there will definitely be a storm, later, but there are no threats. Not for now.

“Goddammit, Geoff.” Jack sighs, barely able to hide her own grin.

For the first time, she notices that Gavin and Lindsay are only a few feet away and- oh.

They would have done something if Ray really was going to attack Geoff. They would have struck him down and found a way to push him away. A set of explosive arrows would probably be more helpful than Captain America’s shield. They would not have let the Hulk even try to hurt him.

Jack glances back up at Ray, and if she didn’t know better, she would say that the monster shrunk, since she last glanced at him. His arms are by his sides, but they are not clenched, anymore. He is just calmly staring at Geoff, through eyes that look a little less purple and a little more brown.

Michael closes the distance between Jack and Ray, hands held out in front of him in a show of submission- like he is reaching for an injured dog and trying not to get bitten in the process.

“Calm down, Ray,” He says, softly- gentle in a way that Jack never expected him to be. “You can blaze, once you’re Ray-size, again.”

Ray doesn’t even hesitate- just lets his angry purple skin deflate, like a punctured balloon. The thick veins ease down, back under the skin. The muscles descend back into his tiny body, so densely packed that it only looks right, when it disappears, completely. The purple hues on his body quickly lighten into a dull pink, but it isn’t long before that is gone, too. While the hair grows back on an eerily stretched face, the skin pales back to Ray’s normal haven’t-seen-the-sun-since-birth tones.

His eyes change at the same rate as his skin, but the shape of them takes longer to shift. They seem too wide for his head, and his mouth, ears, and nose face the same problems. His jaw is bulbous and swollen, disfigured by the size of his teeth. It doesn’t take long for the oversized features to shrink, but it is an image that will remain in Jack’s head for the rest of her life.

It’s like watching a snake shed its skin, to see the Hulk shift back into Ray, and Jack hopes to never see it, again. While she doesn’t have much of a gag reflex- that definitely triggers it.

His shorts are a little too big for him- stretched out by the previous wearer- but Ray doesn’t mind. He deals with this often enough that ripped or stretched pants are an eventuality, rather than an expectation. He tries to buy in bulk, as much as he can.

“So,” Ray says, with a voice that is cracked and rusty. “Did we win?”

“We won.” Jack says, pointing up at the sky to prove her point. The lack of aliens and portals is proof enough to convince the Puerto Rican.

There isn’t much celebration- Jack has glanced at a few of their files, and it looks like they do this every other week- but there does seem to be a feeling of relief in the air. 

Gavin is smiling, while he replaces one of his arrows. Lindsay is strolling over to Michael and wrapping an arm over his shoulder, like she is meant to be by his side. Michael is leaning into it and looking less like a godly warrior and more like a teddy bear. Ray is half naked and staring down at his own body approvingly (which is strange, but Jack can forgive that, right now).  Jack is just watching the others, while she straps her shield back onto her back.

And Geoff is still lying on the floor, eyes locked on the cloudy sky, with a helmet obscuring his face. It doesn’t take long- barely ten seconds- before he is forcing himself to sit up, so that he can take a look at the others.

Ray is perfectly fine- any injuries that the Hulk sustained seemed to be gone, after the transformation. Which is good, considering how reckless the monster often is.

Gavin is a little singed, mostly due to his own arrows, and he still has those ever-present bandaids, but that is normal, so Geoff doesn’t dwell on it, at all. Gavin’ll say something if anything is wrong. Or rather, he would squawk it.

Lindsay seems unharmed- not a hair out of place. She had been fighting, obviously, but she looked perfectly put together. Goddamn Black Widows.

Michael’s wrists are slightly scraped, where Kdin first attempted to claw at him, but other than that, he is fine. He probably won’t even notice the injuries, until they’re gone.

Jack lost her helmet, somewhere along the way, but she, like Lindsay, is perfectly fine. She had a few falls, saved a few people, but she really didn’t see much fighting, this time around. She can’t say that she isn’t happy with that outcome.

“Alright. Hey. Alright. Good job, guys. Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is, but I wanna try it.” Geoff proposes, once he is satisfied that they are all healthy.

“That sounds disgusting.” Gavin states, repulsed by the mere mention.

“If you don’t come, you’re fired.”

“You can fire us?” Lindsay asks, sounding genuinely curious. “I thought Burns is our boss.”

“I’m the boss of the team, so you do what I say. And I say we’re going to shawarma, after we find out what that is.” Geoff sounds a little too excited, like shawarma is the greatest thing he can ever imagine, despite the fact that he has no idea what it is.

“Shouldn’t we deal with Kdin, first?” Michael says, cautiously. “That fucker is slippery.”

“Fine, but then we get shawarma.”

“Fine.”

\---

They get shawarma, and Michael and Jack are the only ones who can eat more than two. The others are piling over their chairs- Gavin is asleep, Lindsay is just mindlessly sipping at an empty cup of soda, Ray hasn’t eaten more than a junior cheeseburger in years, and Geoff doesn’t even like it.

Jack would go for shawarma, again.


	6. Call Me A Dreamer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, who wants to bet this’ll be even longer than the last chapter?
> 
> Fun Fact- If all goes according to plan, we’re halfway there!  
> (Even More of a Fun Fact- It didn’t!)

There’s a short and scrawny lady running laps around the Lincoln Memorial’s Pool, and Jack is too much of an asshole to just let her be.

She’s out of uniform, just waiting for Lindsay to pick her up for some mission, that Burns has told her absolutely nothing about. It’s not exactly something that is out of the ordinary for them. It’s Lindsay- the Level 09 agent- that is entrusted with information, instead of Jack- the Level 07. There isn’t anything wrong with that- Jack has been a part of the organization for only two years, while Lindsay has spent god-knows-how-many with them.

So, while Lindsay is in a meeting with Burns, Jack is preparing to have some fun of her own, for once.

She sets off in an easy jog, a warm-up for the run that she knows she’ll be breaking into, soon. It’s just enough to catch up to the scrawny woman- not enough to be blowing by her, anytime soon. It’s just a simple pace for a simple game.

The first time she passes by the jogger, she says “Surprise, motherfucker”, and watches the woman jerk in surprise, as Jack runs past.

The second time, it goes the exact same way, except, after Jack speaks, the woman responds with “Oh, come on!”

The third time, when the woman is sweating and panting, Jack runs by, and the woman steels herself and pushes forward.

It’s fun in the most innocent way, possible. It is just Jack playing around with a stranger, who already would have tapped out if she didn’t want to play her games. It’s fun, because she keeps pushing herself a little harder, while Jack keeps slowing down, a little more, just so she can feel that she has a slight leg up on Captain America, because she can (almost) keep up with her.

They don’t have a fourth meeting, because the woman is too tired to go on, after Jack’s third “Surprise, motherfucker.”

The woman veers off course, towards a tree, instead of moving left to one of the shorter segments of the rectangular memorial. She leans against the tree, until she slides to the ground, panting like a hot dog. She lets her head fall onto her knees, letting the position hold her up, so that she won’t have to. They’ve only been running for about a half hour, but she looks absolutely exhausted.

Jack, still on the other side of the memorial, doesn’t even try to hold herself back. She breaks into a run, letting her feet carry her at speeds that no human should ever reach. She sprints towards the tree as quickly as she can manage. If she isn’t racing that lady, she can run as fast as she wants.

There is absolutely no reason to hold herself back, anymore. So, she doesn’t and she is standing next to the tree, only a few seconds later.

“Do you need a medic?” Jack asks, slightly concerned for this woman’s safety. She is panting a little too hard- a little too fast- and that can’t be very healthy.

“I am a medic. It’s not really helping, right now.”  The woman looks up from the ground and when she sees Jack, she blinks, a few times, taken aback. “How are you still breathing? You just ran 13 miles in under thirty minutes.”

In the past, that would have been a lot. When Jack was a scrawny thing with nothing to her name, but a list of diseases, a mile long, that would have been spectacular. An Olympian couldn’t do that! No one could run for that much time, that quickly. It would have been incomprehensible.

But Jack has spent the past two years living with a Russian superspy, a heroic carnie, a rich man who likes to fly in metal suits, a perpetually high irradiated murder machine, and a god. Not much surprises her, nowadays.

“Really? Just 13 miles? I think I’m losing my edge.” Jack jokes, grin never leaving her face.

“You should be ashamed. Go run another lap.” A pause. “Did you just take it? I’m pretty sure you just took it.”

“Uh, yeah. Totally just did. Definitely.”

The woman pushes herself back onto her feet and wipes her sweaty hands on her shirt. She holds one out for Jack to shake. She does without complaint.

“Caleb Denecour, formerly 58th pararescue.” She says, without hesitation. Her grip is firm and steady, and she waits patiently for Jack to state her own name.

“Jack Pattillo, presently Captain America.” Jack says, proudly. She’s done good work as Captain America. She has no need to hide it, like Gavin, Ray, and Lindsay, and as much as she respects their secrecy, she has never been one to hide herself. She’s proud of being Captain America and she will broadcast that to the world.

“I kind of guessed that,” Caleb admits. There aren’t many people who can run like that, who aren’t part of the Hunters. “So, how was the ice?”

“I gotta admit- pretty shitty.” Jack says, well aware that two years ago, she might have worded it, better. Michael has had more of an influence, on her vocabulary, than she realized.

“Must have taken some getting used to, right?”

“You could say that. I slept through a century. It was a little jarring to wake back up, after that.” She was understating it, a bit, but that doesn’t matter, much. It is always hard for other people to understand. There was such a significant change, with every little detail about her life. The music was different, the accents were different, the movies were different, the attitudes were different.

Everything changed, after the war ended. While other people may have had time to adjust to those changes, Jack never got that chance. Constraining 70 years of culture and history into a two year gap has been difficult, but there are five other people to help, whenever she needs it.

If she ever forgets how the war ended, Geoff would be there, with a completely incorrect history lesson and a smile.

If she ever forgets any recent scientific discoveries, Ray is there with tubes and wires, ready for a demonstration of another discovery that is pretty similar to that discovery, so it’s alright, right?

If she ever forgets about the Cold War, Lindsay is there with a movie about something completely different, and that’s good enough, right?

If she ever forgets about the ways of Achievement City, Michael would be there, handing over his sword and asking her to lift it. She gets close once, when the sword shakes, slightly, but Michael pulls it away, before it can do much else.

If she ever forgets about simple things- like movies or celebrities or tv shows- Gavin would be there with an hour long video about the dangers of television. She’s pretty sure it’s just his way of pranking her, but the documentary is interesting, enough, that she watches it anyway.

So, while none of them really help, at least she has their support.

If she was alone? That would be a different story. She might have more time to focus, but she wouldn’t have those little moments of human interaction to keep her grounded with the living, instead of the historical.

“I can understand that,” Caleb says, softly, drawing Jack out of her reminiscence. Even after two years, she is still as distractible as ever. “Two tours in Afghanistan, and I still have trouble sleeping with a pillow. It’s too soft.”

“Like lying on a marshmallow.” Jack offers. Caleb snatches onto the metaphor, eagerly.

“Exactly! I can’t complain, though. Marshmallows are a lot more comfortable than rocks.” Jack can’t help, but agree.

“I always prefered the snow.” At least the snow acted as a blanket. It was cold, sure, but she usually had enough equipment to keep her warm in Antarctica. Most of the time, she ended up too hot.

“Lucky. There was no snow, where I was.” Caleb sounds genuinely distraught and Jack can’t blame her. Sleeping on snow is such a relief, after rocks, that it is a tragedy to hear of someone never feeling that relief. She deserves to be distraught, after an experience like that.

“That’s just cruel.”

“It really was."

There's a sudden loud signal, coming from the street behind Jack's back. A horn honking, without any warning, whatsoever. Both of them jerk forward at the sound, equally uncomfortable with sudden noises, like that. It doesn't take long, before they settle back down, and Jack is glancing back at the red sports car that is currently parked in the middle of the street.

"I think that's supposed to be my ride," Jack says, catching a glimpse of cherry red hair through a gap in the window. There aren't many people with that ribrant of a hair color, so there isn't much doubt in who that could be. "Thanks for the run, though."

"I'd say 'anytime', but really, never again." She's still panting, heavily, so Jack can't really blame her for not wanting to join her on her workouts. Jack doesn't really keep a fair pace.

"I'll try to see you around," Jack promises. "Anytime you want to look like a dillhole, just look me up."

"Nah. I don't think I'll take you up on that." Caleb answers. They both know that she's joking. It's been a fairly pleasant conversation. Both are willing to keep at it, if the opportunity arises.

For now, though, duty calls.

Jack saunters up to the car and the door unlocks without hesitation. She sends a grateful smile to the woman inside, who nods right back.

Jack has barely settled into her chair, before Lindsay is running through the mission details.

"Target's gonna be a mobile satellite  launch platform," At Jack's blank stare, she specifies, "A ship that planes launch off of."

"You could have just called it an aircraft carrier." It isn't like they didn't exist, when she was younger, that she wouldn't understand the concept. Even so, it's a fairly simple idea to grasp, without knowing the intricacies of it. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't need to invent a new word for it.

"It's my life's work to make your life as hard as I can," Lindsay says, pleasantly, before slipping back into her more business-oriented persona. Shoulders squared- eyes straight ahead looking up at the traffic, while she speeds through the packed Austin streets. She almost hits a dozen cars on the same street and Jack really wishes that she was the one driving. "So, the crew sent up their last shipment, 93 minutes ago, and a few minutes later, they got got by pirates."

Well, at least Jack isn't the only one being influenced by Michael.

"So, why can't Burnie handle this?" Because really, Jack isn't his janitor. She isn't going to clean up everyone of his messes, when she isn't even technically his employee. She doesn't have a boss- not him, not Geoff, and definitely not Edgar Ignuf. Edgar may be Burns' boss, but he is _definitely_ not hers, as much as he seems to think he is.

"Well, they're asking for half a billion dollars." Lindsay states, matter-of-factly

"I'm pretty sure he gets that much by blinking." He has to be richer than even Geoff, at this point. Between the Helicarrier, the multiple government buildings, the new technologies, and the sheer damage that they have to repair, every other day, he has to receive a ridiculous amount of funding. He could pay the pirates and earn that money back, within a day.

"We have a policy of not negotiating with terrorists." She doesn't sound too pleased with that policy and Jack can't blame her- not when she agrees.

"So, let's risk innocent lives, instead?"

"Look, Jack, I'm not the one who makes the rules. I'm just the one who kicks the shit out of the people who don't follow them."

When they return to base, there will definitely be a few choice words thrown around, but for now, they have a job to do.

"So, how many pirates?" And how strange is her life, that she is a superhero, who is chasing pirates on a gigantic ship, in the future? Somewhere, C Team is probably laughing at her.

"25. They say they have around  15 hostages, including Felix McScouty, one of Burnie's main bitches. Pretty big guy. They’d like him back safe and sound."

"McScouty?" Jack snarks, almost laughing.

"Don't ask me. I'm not the asshole that named him. Blame his shitty lineage."

"So, why is Burnie's bitch on an aircraft carrier, anyway? Shouldn't he be doing, I don't know, bitch things? Shouldn't he be doing that, instead?"

There are more important things to do than spending days trapped on a ship. After Geoff's most recent incident (what kind of villain calls himself the Corpirate, anyway?) S.H.I.E.L.D. has been incredibly busy. They're still cleaning up from the Battle of Austin, and now, New York is in shambles. McScouty should be dealing with that- not the refueling of planes!

"Fuck if I know. All I know is, the leader calls himself Locus and you're the one who gets to take care of him. So, have fun with that."

"How bad is he?"

A pause.

"Not all that bad, don't worry."

\---

Jack is already worn out, before the fight has even started. If she has to listen to one more spiel about being a true soldier, she is going to jump off this ship and leave Locus for Lindsay. She'd deserve it, for leaving her with this mind numbingly boring mercenary. The man seems to be more obsessed with her rank than the fact that he is on the wrong side of this fight.

"Don't you understand, Captain Pattillo? A true soldier is a weapon to be aimed and shot. We do not choose where the bullet will end up. That is not our priority. Our priority is doing our job and ensuring that we do not jam and that our bullet hits the target."

"I-" Jack tries, but is quickly interrupted by the other man.

"I do apologize that we are on the wrong sides of this conflict. I must say, I do respect you, as a soldier. You were loyal to the very end- a respectful warrior. So, I apologize for what I must do."

For a man wearing more armor than Geoff ever has, Locus does not seem to enjoy fighting. He would do much better in public speaking, but only if the topic was 'what makes a true soldier? Here are 10,001 ways to be a war criminal'.

If he ever stops talking, Jack will never take one of Burnie's clean up missions, again.

“Uh, I abandoned my mission.” Jack says, just to get him to stop rambling. However, it is true. She abandoned S.W.O.R.D., when it expected her to bring back the Source Block. Even if that did turn out to be the correct decision, she still was not loyal.

If Locus wants to fantasize about true soldiers, let him, but Jack is not one of them.

“Did you? You never truly worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.. You worked for your team, didn’t you? You often ignored your orders. A true soldier does not abandon orders, but they were not your superiors, were they?” He’s reaching for straws and they both know it.

“They were.” Jack says, bluntly.

“Well, then that is disappointing. Do not disappoint me, again.” And all of a sudden, the armored rambler is settling down, fists held out in front of his chest. His knees are bent, and he is resting on the tips of his toes, ready to pounce into battle at any given moment. He waits, though- waits until Jack is detaching the shield from her back- until she lets it stick against Geoff’s newest enhancement to her uniform, a magnetic lock.

He waits until she is battle ready, before he strikes. An interesting strategy, to try and wait until the opponent is prepared. Maybe, he really is trying to see if she is this model soldier that he obsesses over. Maybe, he wants a fair fight, so that he can determine if she is truly worthy of being his role model.

A part of Jack hopes that she disappoints him.

Jack throws the first punch, but her fist merely bounces off of his chest. It’s the armor, she’s sure, but she doesn’t mind, too much. He may be wearing bulletproof armor, but she has a shield and that is just as effective.

Locus throws the second punch, but it misses her, entirely. She sidesteps the blow, letting him throw his body forward with his momentum. She grabs his outstretched arm and pulls it to her side, forcing him to swing in a circle around her. She holds out her shield arm and the mercenary runs directly into the weapon. For a moment, he is stunned by the blow, but within a second, he is jabbing at her stomach, and Jack is forced to let go of his arm. She pushes him away, giving them both a moment to recover.

“Fair strategy. I approve.” Locus says, with his usual monotony. His helmet is askew, but it only takes a second for him to fix that.

“Thanks! I’m glad to hear!” Jack exclaims. The armored head tilts in confusion and Jack can barely hold back a laugh.

The overly-excited pleasantry serves as a suitable distraction against Locus, because he doesn’t seem to expect her to throw her shield. She swings her arm, not even needing to let go, anymore. The movement itself jars the weapon and sends it flying towards Locus in a beeline for his face. The mercenary ducks, letting the shield strike the wall, instead. It rebounds, sending it right back to Jack’s waiting arm. Geoff’s lock catches it, without Jack even needing to move a muscle.

She’ll probably have to buy him a gift basket , once she’s done with Locus.

The pirate lets out a low grunt, before he is lunging at her like an angry bull. In true matador fashion, Jack sidesteps the attack, but it seems that Locus is prepared for that, this time. At the last second, he follows her movement and swings to the left. He plows into her with all the force of a hungry lion, driving her back against a wall.

He punches quickly and efficiently- easy kicks at her legs, where her shield can’t reach and multiple headbutts, whose effects seem multiplied by the heavy metal helmet. When Jack finally manages to sweep a leg under his, driving him off of his balance- just long enough that Jack can stumble away- she can see stars dancing in her vision.

There’s a voice in her earpiece, that is a little too grating, right now. Her vision is swimming, her legs are shaking, and this voice is only causing even more confusion.

Blows to the head are always the worst.

“How’re things going with Locus, Jack?” Lindsay sounds nonchalant. Jack would not be surprised if, while she is fighting, Lindsay is lounging on a beach chair, sipping on a fruity cocktail. It would not be the first time that she has done that, while on a mission.

“It’s, er, under control. I’ve got him.”

Locus charges, again, and Jack is quick to adapt to that. Instead of dodging out of the way, she ducks, hauling her shield above her head, so that the sharpened edges catch Locus in his knees. He trips, but manages to recover with a roll, and gets back onto his feet, easily.

There are two thin slices on his knees, where Jack’s weapon cut through his armor. It didn’t manage to cut his skin, but it is a weak point. She’ll need to exploit that, somehow.

“I thought you were more than just a shield.” Locus comments, voice thick with anger.

“You’re wearing a suit of armor!” She is not going to get tricked into dropping her shield, just so this mercenary has an easier time killing her. Maybe Michael would have done it, but Jack isn’t quite that naive. She doesn’t need to cater to her own pride, during a fight. She just needs to get it over and done with, with as little trouble as she can manage.

“This is a test of you- not me.” Locus says, but he doesn’t push against Jack’s shield again. She can keep it and he can keep his armor. It’s an almost fair fight.

The mercenary rushes towards her, again, and Jack doesn’t hesitate. As he moves, she jumps- six feet in the air- and rests her feet on his shoulders. The sudden pressure sends him stumbling, tripping over the side of the ship. He hangs off for just a second and Jack doesn’t hesitate. She vaults off of his back, kicking off as much as she can, sending the pirate tumbling over the railing.

Jack hears a splash, and just like that, the fight is over.

She taps on her ear, turning on an earpiece that she still is not completely comfortable with. It’s weird hearing voices coming from nowhere, even after years with them yelling into her ears. Radios are alright- at least they aren’t beamed directly into her head. Earpieces, though, are impossible to deal with.

“Alright, Locus is down. Need any backup, Widow?” Jack asks, careful to use the codename in place of her actual name. The world doesn’t know who the Black Widow is, yet, and they would like to keep it that way.

“Go help Nutt. I can handle this, from here.” Lindsay says. Jack doesn’t even bother to respond- just starts heading over to Mark Nutt and his strike team.

She doesn’t wonder what Lindsay is doing that she doesn’t need backup. The woman is probably the most formidable of all of them- she can handle herself. Jack doesn’t need to wonder why she seems to think Nutt, with his assortment of soldiers, would need her help for. She trusts Lindsay- has worked with her for the past two years. She doesn’t need to worry about little details like that.

Lindsay has never led her astray, and Jack trusts her for it.

But when she is running through the ship, heading towards Nutt, she turns her head and catches sight of Lindsay through a window. It’s completely chance that she saw her. It never would have happened, if Jack had looked right instead of left.

But there she was, huddled over a computer, slotting a stick (flash drive? Is that what they call it?) into the side of the screen. She shouldn’t be doing that- not when they were on a mission and definitely not on S.H.I.E.L.D. property. She should be engaging with the pirates and helping finish this mission. She should not be collecting information off of this ship.

Her back is to Jack, but the screen is not. There are multiple feeds on the screen- one segment of it, dedicated to numbers, while another is footage of the bridge of the ship. Lindsay’s body is blocking some of the information, but there is enough visible that Jack can see exactly what she is doing- stealing information from S.H.I.E.L.D..

Annoyed, by this flagrant disobedience to the rules of this mission, Jack stops running- stops moving towards the bridge, and instead breaks open the door to Lindsay’s computer room. It only takes a quick jab of her elbow against the metal door frame, before the hinges crack and the door swings open.

Lindsay jumps, fists high against her chest, like she is ready to attack. She doesn’t remove the flash drive, so Jack can see the words “ **Download 72% complete** ” onscreen.

It’s almost sickening to know that, on a hostage mission, Lindsay is completely betraying everything they stand for so that she can steal from their organization. No, it isn’t sickening. It is more than that. It’s deplorable.

“Well, this is awkward.” Lindsay mutters, following Jack’s gaze back to the computer. She tilts the screen back, a little, to make it slightly less visible. It doesn’t work.

“What are you doing?” It isn’t as much of a question as it is a demand, so Lindsay doesn’t even bother to pretend that Jack doesn’t know what she is doing.

“My mission.” Lindsay says, smiling like she isn’t ignoring the mission parameters.

“The mission was to rescue the hostages.” It wasn’t to steal S.H.I.E.L.D. information- it wasn’t for personal gain. The mission was to help people in need, and she didn’t do that.

“No, that was your mission,” The spy explains, still smiling. “My mission was to backup this hard drive. Honestly, I don’t give half a damn about the hostages.”

“You jeopardized this whole thing.”

“Now, you’re exaggerating. I can’t ruin something I wasn’t a part of in the first place. This was your job and Nutt’s job. I’m just here to make sure the pirates didn’t steal anything too important.” That smile is really starting to grate on Jack’s nerves.

“Were the people not important?”

“Let’s be honest, here. The important one was McScouty and he’s a creepy guy. I think we can do without him.”

“You’re not the one who’s supposed to decide those things.”

“You’re right. Edgar and Burnie are. Who do you think gave me this mission?”

\---

Burns is looking down at his desk, scratching pen against paper, without a care in the world. He doesn’t so much as glance up at Jack- doesn’t look around his enormous office. He just sits back in his chair and writes enough to make an english teacher cry.

They have been sitting there for half an hour, while Jack just looks on in ever-increasing annoyance. She already knows the exact number of tiles on the floor (2,500), and she knows the exact layout of the ceiling (nine larger tiles, with a light on each corner). She already knows that Burns hasn’t written anything meaningful in over 15 minutes- has just scribbled nonsense onto his paper, hoping that Jack will take the hint and leave.

Jack takes the hint. She just doesn’t care to listen to it.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” She practically snarls, when she finally gets sick of waiting around for nothing.

Burns barely reacts to the insult. He just keeps marking the paper with words that don’t even match together. Jack sees the words ‘onion’, ‘potato’, ‘fuck’, and ‘Joe’, before Burns covers them with his elbow.

“Woah, there, Jack. What’d I do?” The director asks, eyes trained on his nonsensical words.

“You could have gotten everyone on that ship killed.” She isn’t even exaggerating. There is a reason that two front wars are almost impossible to win. A split army makes for difficult situations. If one half of a team is doing one thing, while another has a completely different objective, it throws off the dynamic. If the first half thinks that they can rely on the second, they can get themselves killed through that misdirected sense of trust. The enemy could attack on two sides, while they were fighting at half-strength. Jack doesn’t want to fight in that type of war.

“Oh,” And then, louder “Oh! That! Here, I thought Geoff sent you.”

“People could have died, Burns.” Jack snaps, practically spitting venom at the man. He doesn’t flinch.

“And we sent the greatest soldier ever to make sure that didn’t happen. It worked, didn’t it? Everyone got out alive. I, for one, don’t see the problem.” Of course, he doesn’t. He hasn’t been in the field, since he lost his eye. He would not understand the need for camaraderie within a troop- the need to trust each other. He won’t understand the dynamic that he has broken, with that stupid order.

“It could have ended badly. Soldiers are supposed to trust each other.” Jack scolds him, like she is talking to a child. It feels like she is.

“Yeah, I tried that once. It sort of ended with me losing an eye. Forgive me for not wanting to try that, again,” Burns comments, lightly. When Jack shoots him a glare that could probably kill, he just lets out a sigh. “Look, I didn’t want you to have to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.”

“I’m not comfortable with jackasses like you going behind my back.”

“Tough luck. You joined the army, Captain. You’re gonna have to get used to it.” And maybe that is normal, now, but it was not when Jack enlisted.

Or, maybe it was. Sorola and Hullum had been plotting behind her back, since the day she had discovered the Source Block. From the start, they had been leading her on missions so that they could continue with their own selfish goals. Maybe the army hasn’t changed, at all.

“I can’t lead a mission, where the people I’m leading have other missions.”

“You want to know what Lindsay’s mission was? Fine, but don’t come bitching to me, when you don’t like it.” Burns finally stops scratching his pen against the paper. He pushes his chair back and gestures for Jack to follow him towards the entrance- an elevator that only leads down.

“What’s ‘it’?”

“It’s a little think we like to call Project Future Cube.” Burns approaches the elevator, and they don’t even have to wait before the door opens and he strolls inside. Jack is quick to follow and the doors are quick to close behind her.

“What is that?” Because that might be the stupidest name they could have come up with- for any operation, and that is coming from a S.H.I.EL.D. agent.

Burns ignores her question and instead glances at the screen that encompases the doors. He takes a step towards it and waits for a second, until they hear a loud, automated voice speak. It is something that Jack will never get used to.

“Director Burns,” It identifies, voice high pitched and gleeful. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Send us to below ground level.”

Below ground level? Jack hadn’t even known that there was a below ground level. The building began with a first floor and ended with a 108th. In two years of working with S.H.I.E.L.D., Jack had never heard of a 109th floor.

“Even Captain Pattillo, sir?” The machine, still as excitable as ever, asks.

Burns just nods- doesn’t even need to speak- and the elevator begins to descend.

“They used to play music, you know,” Jack says, a little displeased by the silence. Even after a few seconds together, it already feels awkward. They were supposed to pay attention to the music, so that they would not have to feel that social requirement for conversation. It feels wrong to be lacking those tunes. As annoyed as Jack might still be, she can’t let the awkwardness continue.  “My grandfather used to work on these things. Got some decent tips.”

“They used to tip elevator guys?” Burns asks, genuinely curious.

“Do they not, anymore?” Because that feels wrong. They used to work hard, with terrible pay. They deserve to be tipped.

“You and I have lived in very different times, my friend.” It takes all the self control that Jack has not to inform Burns that they are not, in fact, friends.

“Not anymore.” Jack says, a little bitterly. As nice as the 21st century might be, she grew up in a different time. She really does miss it, almost as much as she misses her friends.

They fall into silence, again, and there is no music to accompany it. The silence just makes Jack miss her time, even more.

At one point, the cheerful voice squeaks out a “Edgar would like to meet with you immediately, sir. He is very worried about Project Future Cube.” Burns tells it to wait five minutes, and the happy robot obeys his command, immediately.

They have barely been descending for 15 seconds, before the ground stills beneath them. In the past, the music would have stopped and the doors would have opened, but instead the doors open and a cheerful voice says, “Welcome to Project Future Cube.”

Jack takes one step out of the elevator, before shock forces her to a stop.

The Helicarrier was large- larger than life. Jack had seen aircraft carriers, before, but somehow the Helicarrier felt bigger. Maybe it was because it was flying, or maybe because it was actually bigger. Either way, it was enormous.

Here, there are three of them.

Three gigantic airships, side by side in an underground base that has to take up half of the city. They are, somehow, even larger than the original Helicarrier, and seem to be armed with even more weaponry. Even from the ground, Jack can see turrets set up on each corner of the ships, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

There are names, painted with red, that are drawn onto the sides of each individual ship. One, Patriot- another, Freedom- another, Liberty. They stretch from the bow to the stern- could probably be read from space. One letter is probably enough to paint an entire city block.

All in all, it just feels _unnecessary._ They don’t need three new Helicarriers. They don’t need new weaponry. They don’t need patriotic names for each ship, painted with enough red to fill a lake. These ships aren’t needed.

“This is Project Future Cube. Three next-generation helicarriers synced to a network of targeting satellites. Once we get them in the air, they never need to come down. Continuous sub-orbital flight, courtesy of our new repulsor engines.” Burns sounds proud, like he has never seen anything more extraordinary than these three battleships, when they aren’t even at war.

“Did Geoff have something to do with this?” Because Jack has only ever heard that level of technobabble from an excited Geoff. It has to have been taught and rehearsed.

“He had a few suggestions. These new long-range precision guns can eliminate 10,000 hostiles a minute. The satellites can read a terrorist's DNA before he steps outside his spider hole. We're gonna stop a lot of crimes, before they even happen.”

“What happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Jack asks, disgusted by the idea of it. America was founded on the principles of freedom- not whatever the hell this is.

“If we already know they will be guilty, why wait? We can save lives, this way.” The pride in his voice is almost as despicable as the idea of this whole thing.

“You’re holding a gun to people’s heads and calling it freedom.”

“I seem to remember that your generation doing some pretty shitty stuff, too.”

“We did that to give people freedom. This isn’t freedom. This is fear.” Jack says, coldly, glaring at the three ships as if she can destroy them with just a gaze.

“If fear is what works, then fear is what we need. The Council approved this, and they never approve anything, so I’m gonna stick by their judgement, this time,” He matches the intensity of Jack’s gaze, but his eyes aren’t locked on the ships. They are locked on her. “You have to get with the times, Captain. Things changed. You have to, too.”

“I don’t think so.”

\---

This is the fourth time Jack has come to see her and it has never gotten easier.

She’s older now- nowhere near the spry woman she was, when Jack was small. Her skin is wrinkled, her hair is grey, and her hands are shaking. She’s confined to bed, with fluids pumping through a tube that they injected through her skin. She has a television set up, but she never seems to look at it. She seems too distracted by her own mind to mind the outside world.

“Are you happy here?” Jack asks, glancing at the pristine white walls that only serve to cage them in. She wouldn’t be happy here- too many years spent in fields, without trappings and ties- and it just makes her uncomfortable to think that Caiti isn’t, either.

“It’s nice here, actually. Really very cozy.” She promises, sinking a little further into her pillow. Jack doesn’t bother to hide a smile.

“You remember who I am, right?” And the smile is already slipping, because what if she doesn’t? The nurses have made it clear that, someday, she will forget her. She will forget her years in the army, shaping one of the largest intelligence agencies in the world. She will forget the lives she has saved and the people she helped. It’s inevitable, at this point, that she will forget Jack, too.

“Jack Pattillo, how could I ever forget you?” Caiti asks. Jack’s smile returns with full force.

“I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“You better be. It’s hard to forget when the dead come back to life.”

And she’d been there, hadn’t she? When Jack was plunging into the ocean, she was there, begging her to pull up- to return to base, safe and sound. She had been the only one of that group to not have ulterior motives and she had been forced to listen as Jack dived into certain death.

Luckily, it wasn’t all that certain.

“You have a point there.” Jack admits, letting laughter bubble in her throat. It feels familiar, even 70 years later, to talk to Caiti. Even when she is in her 90s, and Jack has not grown up, at all, it feels like nothing has changed. They are the same two soldiers who rode to the most secretive experiment in history and ended their ride with a conversation about umbrellas. It feels normal to talk to her, even when nothing in their lives has ever been normal.

“I’m glad you’re back, though. Sorola and Hullum keep asking about the Source Block.  Do you still have it?”

Jack’s heart sinks below her chest.

“Sorola and Hullum?” She asks, hesitantly. Caiti just nods.

“They’ve been asking, and since you’re back, you probably have it, right?”

“You don’t remember.” Jack mutters. She stares at the ground, not even wasting the energy to let her lungs suck in air. She is too shocked- too betrayed by that realization, when she can’t even place the blame on anyone.

“Remember what?” Caiti asks, tilting her head in confusion. She doesn’t know what she’s lost. She thinks that Jack is just being as over dramatic as ever. She doesn’t know.

“Nothing.”

Nothing. Not Sorola and Hullum dying. Not the attack on Austin. Not the containment of the Source Block. Not any of it, because the only thing worse than Caiti forgetting is Caiti knowing that she is forgetting. Ignorance is bliss and she deserves that bliss.

“You know, I lived a full life,” And if that doesn’t crush Jack’s heart, nothing can. “I just wish that you did, too. You’ve always had to hide things from everyone- even the people who care about you. I’m sorry for that.”

It isn’t her fault, Jack wants to tell her. It isn’t her fault that Jack fell into the ice and lost her future in the past. It isn’t her fault that she is 70 years older than the world and doesn’t understand most of what the other Hunters say.

The only thing she did was find Jack and she can’t thank her enough for that. Caiti was the one to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D.. Caiti was the one to reorganize the search parties. Caiti was the one who directed Pubert and the others to her. The only thing Jack has to say to her is ‘thank you’.

But she doesn’t- she just waits and watches Caiti. She doesn’t know what to say, is too touched to respond. So she sits and she waits, until the woman leans back into her pillow and says “Jack?”

There’s a moment of hesitation, before Jack says “Yeah?”

“You’re alive?”

And Jack’s broken and beaten heart is thrown to the wolves.

\---

There’s a message in Jack’s phone, when she walks back into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. She fumbles with the messenger for a few minutes, taking thirty seconds to unlock the encoded screen with a swipe of her fingerprints, and another minute to navigate to the messages.

They’d tried to teach her how to use it more efficiently, but it never settled in her head, all too well. The screen is weird and it doesn’t seem to work as well with calloused fingertips.

She finally reaches the text message from “Asshole #7”, as Geoff had named him, when she is only 50 feet from the elevator. It’s a simple “ **See me** ,” from the man that Jack was already intending to meet with. She was planning to discuss Future Cube with him, so she is fairly lucky that he is prepared for her arrival. Otherwise, she might have been forced to wait, again. She really did not want to spend another half hour watching him draw meaningless symbols on a piece of paper, when S.H.I.E.L.D. does not even use paper, anymore.

The elevator is already there, when she arrives, as it always is. They must have some sort of newfangled technology that senses whenever Jack Pattillo is near the elevator, because they cannot install music, but they can install that, instead. Personally, Jack would prefer the music.

She taps the key for the 108th floor, never one for using the oral controls, and watches as the doors begin to shut. Before they even get the chance, there is a hand between them, holding them open, so that it can get inside. Jack steps aside, to the corner of the elevator, to give them the chance to enter.

Four men, all clad in the standard combat attire and with enough guns to shoot down an army, slip inside without any difficulty. They are all members of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s strike team, all people that Jack has worked with before.

One of them, an MI6 transfer who wears a Union Jack on every one of his uniforms, stands beside her, eyes focused on the view beyond this glass elevator. It isn’t so bad a view- countless buildings and waterways that genuinely make the city look beautiful- but it isn’t anything that he has done before. The man, one Sergeant Marcus Nutt, is usually much more talkative. Ordinarily, he’d be walking into the elevator telling one of his men to suck his nut, before flipping on his earpiece and yelling at another one of his subordinates.

He isn’t exactly the most pleasant man around.

The only time that he ever goes this quiet is on missions, where he barely ever utters a word- too focused to even think of speaking. Is he preparing for a mission, right now?

None of the men press any keys or order the robotic voice to stop at any certain floor. They just let the elevator rise, without any input of where it should go.

They stop on the 37th floor, on which even more strike team members climb in. Three men, all armed with guns and tasers, and all sweating like stuck pigs.

The doors shut and Jack, pressed up against Nutt’s side, can feel the Sergeant reaching for something at his hip. He shifts, and the handle of a gun scrapes against Jack’s leg.

Again, no one says a word to the elevator, and no one presses a key, but there are hands shaking and breaths that are coming too quickly.

“So,” Jack says, as if she is testing the waters. “Any last words, assholes?”

Someone pulls the emergency signal and the elevator skids to a stop. That is the only warning any of them get, before the fight begins.

Nutt moves first, already prepared with the hand on his belt, but he was too obvious. Jack grabbed his arm, before he could even attempt to pull the gun away, and swings with one of her legs. The man goes down, head smashing against another man’s leg, causing the man to join him on the ground.

One of them has his gun in the air, pointed at Jack, and Jack ducks before he has the chance to fire. The bullet ricochets off of the metal wall and tears through someone’s arm. They scream and that only serves as a distraction.

Jack rips her shield off of her back, just as Nutt gets back on his feet. He still has gun in his hand, aimed at Jack’s head, but Jack just drops her shield to cover her face, before he can fire. He still shoots, and this time the bullet hits one of the downed men.

“Nothing personal, Captain,” Nutt promises, while his still-active men arm themselves, now that the gig is up. “Just stand down and we can all be done with this.”

“Yeah, I could do that,” Jack agrees. “Or I could not.”

She doesn’t even hesitate, before she throws the shield. It’s an underhanded swing, more of a slide really, so the weapon just slides under their feet. Two of them- Nutt included- manage to leap over the weapon, but the other three aren’t so lucky. They go tumbling down, legs sliced from the bladed weapon.

They all get back to their feet, but Nutt moves before they can. He grabs a stun baton from one of the two downed men, and before Jack has a chance to react, he is pressing it against her side.

It burns, pure white agony lacing through her hip and speeding through each individual nerve. The shock- not enough to kill, but enough to burn like a wildfire- sends her reeling back against the wall, clueless for a few seconds. The skin that it is touching is already numbed, but the nerves around it are overwhelmed. It’s almost debilitating and leaves her with only a thin slice of the real world. Jack can feel her teeth chattering from the force of the shocks, and she doesn’t get the time to recover, before one of the men is pressing something around her wrist.

The bracelet pulls her back- away from Nutt’s baton, but completely immobile, once it sticks to the wall. Jack pulls at it, desperately trying to break free, but it doesn’t budge. It must be an incredibly strong magnet.

“Give it up, Pattillo,” Nutt orders, his staff still sparking with pure electricity. “You’re trapped like a rat.”

Except, no, she isn’t. He’s close enough that she can kick up, swinging both of her feet into the air. So she does, and her right leg manages to hit Nutt’s arm, instantly weakening his grip and sending the weapon flying. It hits one of his men, and manages to catch him at just the right angle that it stays stuck to his clothes. The man lets out one pitiful squeak, before he falls to the ground, shaking.

In any other circumstance, Jack would feel bad for him. In this one, not as much. There are still four other men and Jack is still stuck to the wall. She’s too busy to care.

She still has one arm free, so she takes a swing at a man who gets a little too close to her. The punch sends him flinging into another soldier, who runs at Jack with the force of a bull. One kick to the jaw sends him flying as far as his friend. Both hit the ground, bleeding.

Another man rushes at Jack, not learning from the other’s mistakes, and Jack manages to catch his chest with her foot. The man goes flying up, hitting the ceiling with enough force to dent it. He will probably need to check for internal bleeding, once all is said and done.

Jack pushes up against the wall, feet steady against the metal doors, and pulls at the bracelet with both of her arms. It takes almost as much strength as she has, but the magnet gives, sending her falling to the ground.

She recovers gracefully, jumping to her feet to face this one, final threat. Mark Nutt glares at her, two stun batons at the ready, with his eyes narrowed.

“One last chance, Cap.” He offers.

“Suck on it.”

He lunges- manages to strike her in the side with his staff of white hot pain, but she pushes through it. She grabs hold of his right arm, and cringes when he sticks her with his left. She grimaces, clenching her eyes shut with almost too much force, but she grabs his left hand and pushes him back.

She twists his wrists, but he doesn’t drop his weapons. He just clenches his teeth and bares it, pushing back against her, like a mouse fighting against a cat. He’s caught. He’s done. He went against Captain America with a pair of sticks, and now he’s surprised to lose.

Well, too bad.

She kicks him, right between the legs, and the man goes flying headfirst into the already-dented ceiling. When he comes back down, he isn’t awake, anymore.

There are seven bodies lying sprawled on the floor and Jack has no idea why any of them even attempted this. What was their goal? What was the point? What had she done that turned Nutt’s strike team against her?

She reaches for her shield, just as the doors open.

“Stand down, Captain Pattillo!” A loud, gratingly familiar voice, screams.

“What?” She asks, dumbfounded. They had attacked her! Why was S.H.I.E.L.D. telling her to stand down? That was self defense, against people who were attacking a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. What was wrong with that?

“Get on the ground, Pattillo! I’m not saying it, again!” Felix McScouty orders. He is surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel, all of whom are carrying weapons, and all of whom seem completely fine with this.

So Jack, having no idea what to do, against a group that looks frighteningly familiar to Nutt’s strike team, swings her shield. It easily breaks the glass wall, and slices through a thin pair of wires holding the elevator up.

It goes down like a rock.

Jack grabs hold of the railing, waiting and waiting for the elevator to hit the ground and holding her shield up to protect her face and-

It stops, stock still in between the 5th and 6th floor. Like the unstoppable force hit the unmovable object and found out that it wasn’t quite so unstoppable.

There must have been a fail-safe for incidents like that, if there was ever a fire that took out the wires. Jack isn’t quite so surprised by that. They had to have replaced the elevator music with _something_ good, and a robotic voice isn’t that special.

It takes a little too much force to pry open the doors, but when she does, all she sees is another strike team, approaching with guns at the ready. Jack lets go of the doors and lets them slam back shut. She has a feeling that the 5th floor is probably just as packed with soldiers.

Which means that there is only one way out. And as much as she promised Geoff that she would never jump out of a building, again, she happens to like living.

She takes a step back, eyes trained on the glass wall in front of her. It isn’t bulletproof- there are already cracks and slices that prove that- and that is good enough for her. She positions herself so that her shield is covering her chest, while she listens to the taunts of the strike teams that want her dead.

A running start, shattering glass, and then Jack jumps.

There isn’t much of a fall- it isn’t anything like the Battle of Austin. Four stories is quite underwhelming compared to a 56 floor jump. This one barely even lasts five seconds from the moment Jack jumps to the moment where her shield is smashing through the glass of the building below.

There are people screaming and running, before Jack even hits the ground. The sound of a ceiling shattering is enough to get them sprinting away from the scene. So, when Jack hits the ground, there is no one that she could possibly hurt during the landing.

The collision knocks the breath out of her lungs, leaving her desperately gasping for air. She rolls over, slicing her skin on the shards that surround her, and her muscles scream at the movement. The shield might have taken most of the impact, but not all of it. She can already feel the dull soreness in her bones and she already knows that tomorrow, she will regret this.

Maybe not, though. At least, she survived, so far. Maybe this isn’t completely regrettable.

As much as she wants to lay on the ground to let aching muscles heal, she knows she cannot. She may have left the building, but she is still vulnerable. It will take less than a minute for Felix to send an army after her. She needs to move fast if she doesn’t want to get caught.

She has her motorcycle about a block away. If she can get to it in time, she might be able to get out of the city, before they shut it down. If she is too late, Felix will have her in the palm of his hand.

Jack might not know why she is being chased, but she would be damned, if she let him catch her.

She manages to stand on shaking legs and locks her shield back onto her back. She won’t be able to hold it, once she is on her bike. She might as well let herself have as free a range of motion as she can. She has to do this quickly, since she is on a time limit. She’ll give herself every advantage possible.

She starts off with a jog, just to give life back to numbed legs, but it doesn’t last for long. Soon, she is running, and then she is sprinting.

It feels like no time passes, at all, before  Jack is outside and speeding back towards her bike. She can hear screaming from civilians, as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents pile out of their headquarters. They are all armed- all ready to shoot to kill, if the option presents itself.

The civilians are right to be afraid. S.H.I.E.L.D. has gone insane.

She wonders where Gavin and Lindsay are. Are they, too, running from strike teams, or are they a part of them? Are they working against Jack, or are they just as much of an enemy as she is?

What is Geoff doing, right now? He would never work for S.H.I.E.L.D., holds himself above them in every way. They wouldn’t hunt him down- wouldn’t risk losing the funding that he gives, but they would try to get him on their side. Hopefully, he won’t be stupid enough to believe that Captain America has turned against them.

She turns the corner, just as the strike team starts to scream at her to get down. She just keeps running, heading towards the bike at the end of the block. It’s fairly easy to locate, considering the red, white, and blue paintjob that Geoff insisted on. The smoke trail, of the same colors, was Gavin’s idea.

Gavin, who is probably asking why there are people chasing down ‘Captain bloody America!’. Gavin, who probably has no idea what is going on, but will be expected to join in on the chase, if he is not already being chased.

If Michael was still on Earth, they would probably ask him, too. A man who can fly is definitely a good tracker in this sort of situation. He would be able to strike Jack down, without any sort of difficulty. Luckily, he isn’t stupid enough to listen to them and, even if he is, he is nowhere near Earth. A mission, involving Kdin, as always, had forced him to return to Achievement City. He’s been gone for weeks and none of them have heard a word.

Ray has been too, now that Jack thinks about it. They would have a hard time hunting the Hulk, but they would try. He is even more of a danger than Michael is and S.H.I.E.L.D. would definitely want him gone, if they are planning to get rid of Jack.

By a stroke of luck, he is somewhere in Asia, hunting down a very specific leaf that he claims works twice as well as marijuana, with none of the annoying side effects. Apparently, hunger isn’t a worthy sacrifice in fighting the Hulk.

Either way, it’s good that he’s gone. Jack wouldn’t want S.H.I.E.L.D. getting their hands on the Hulk, if they really have turned on her. As much as she trusts Ray, she doesn’t trust the Hulk as far as she can throw him.

“Get back here, Pattillo!” Felix’s yells, waving his arms, frantically, like the movement will stop her in her tracks. When, it doesn’t work, he gestures wildly to his men. “Well? Are you going to do something, or are you just going to stand there like idiots?”

Too late, the grunts begin to shoot, but Jack has her hands on her bike, and with one smooth motion, she swings onto the seat. It takes less than a second to get moving and by then, no bullet in the world could stop her.

She doesn’t even bother to reverse back onto the street. She is facing the sidewalk that the pedestrians have already abandoned. There is no reason to go back- to slow herself down, like that. The sidewalk is empty and Jack floors the gas.

She shoots off, barely managing to get the bike on an angle so that it doesn’t crash directly into the wall. She barely needs to warm up the engine with this thing. Geoff might complain, whenever he’s used as a common mechanic, but he is good at what he does. Jack really does owe him a fruit basket. She might even have to add a few bottles of whiskey, too.

When she sees an opening between cars, she goes for it. She slips between them, back tire slightly grazing the front car. It throws her off of her balance, but she recovers and continues blazing down the road.

There are still shots from snipers who are too good and not good enough at their jobs, and Jack just zig zags away from the shots. A moving target is hard to hit, but a target moving in two different directions is almost impossible- especially when one of those directions is completely randomized.

She can’t hold back from screaming “Serpentine!” as she goes, and she doesn’t think that Felix appreciates it.

She manages to get through the first street, unscathed, and the snipers show no signs of stopping. She keeps swerving, zipping through empty streets and driving on the wrong side of traffic.

When something shakes against her side, she almost doesn’t notice it. The area is still numb from Nutt’s assault and while it is slowly regaining feeling, it is nowhere near 100%. It is 34%, at best, and even that is a stretch.

So it takes a few rings, before she shifts her right hand onto the center of the handlebars. With the other hand, she reaches around the area, uncertain of the source of the buzzing. She can’t distinguish, as well, between fried nerves, and just fumbles around until she reaches her pocket.

From that touch alone, she knows that it is her phone that is buzzing. She toys with it for a few seconds, keeping one eye on the road and one eye on the screen, while she tries to get it unlocked. It works, eventually, and it only takes a little more work to get to the call screen.

It’s an unknown number- not even showcasing random digits, like Jack was used to, before Geoff reprogrammed her phone for her. The caller ID just says “unknown”, and Jack is slightly suspicious as to how that is possible. Still, she taps on the unknown name and then clicks the miniature green phone that always starts a call. At least, these symbols make sense.

There isn’t even a single ring, before “unknown” picks up.

“Captain Pattillo?” The voice- high pitched and obviously female- doesn’t bother to even offer a greeting. “I think we need to have a little chat.”

“Who’s this?” The sniper shots are starting to thin, as she inches closer to traffic, so Jack lets herself focus on the conversation, a little more.

“I’m, uh, friend of a friend. A friend who really needs to talk to you.” She sounds urgent, like every wasted moment is physically hurting her. She is speaking too quickly and slurring through her words. It’s only, because Jack has practice, that she understands a word she says.

“What’s your name?” Jack asks, suspicious of this ‘friend of a friend’. If she really was trustworthy, she already would have made that clear. It is just hammering a nail into her own coffin that she doesn’t use her friend’s name.

“There are eyes everywhere, Cap. We’ll see you at the Nest.” She hangs up, on that ominous note, just as Jack hits traffic.

The lights are all red, but Jack gnashes her teeth and turns towards Hunter’s Tower.

\---

There isn’t a fight in the elevator, this time, but there is still no music and that is not a fair deal.

It’s a long ride up to the top of the tower- too many floors and no glass windows to see through. Admittedly, that is probably a good thing, since Geoff would has probably already shattered a glass elevator, given his track record. He has never been extraordinary at controlling his prototypes, so the tower is lucky enough to have reinforced _everything._ The Hunters would probably be goners, if it wasn’t.

Still, Jack misses the view.

The doors open, while she is considering manually installing a radio into the walls, and it is a relief. That call was urgent and Jack broke quite a few speed laws to get here. It would be horrendous if a slow elevator caused someone to get hurt.

Jack steps inside, cautiously, keeping her eyes trailing every inch of the room. Gavin’s things- old scraps of technology, prototype arrowheads, bows that are both metal and wood- are hanging off the walls, all as neat and orderly as ever. Gavin has always been strangely clean for a carnie, and it shows in his room. While everyone else has things strewn across the floor, Gavin keeps his room impeccable.

It isn’t the neatness that surprises her- no, that is completely ordinary. What does surprise her is the purple-haired woman standing by one of the bows.

She is wearing a uniform, similar to Gavin’s- almost exact, really. The same symbol, the same style, the same odd mix of kevlar and cloth. She has a bow hanging off of her shoulder and wrapped around her torso, while the quiver rests on her waist. She doesn’t bother to reach for it, when Jack approaches her.

“I’m glad you made it,” The woman says. The voice is too familiar and Jack recognizes it, instantly. This is the unknown woman from the phone call. Impossibly, Jack manages to tense even more than she already did. “Burnie needs to see you.”

“I’m sorry. Who the hell are you?” Jack asks, taken aback by this Gavin-impersonator.

“Hawkeye, but you can call me Meg.”

Yeah, that is definitely weird.

“Sorry, but I already know a Hawkeye,” A quick once over. “And I don’t think you’re him.”

Meg, if that is even her name, considering that she has lied about everything else, shakes her head and sighs. She points towards the exit, keeping her eyes locked on Jack, but her head tilted towards the door.

“Yeah, and he’s with Burnie, who has been asking for you for hours,” The impersonator says, dryly. “So, how about you go see him, instead of interrogating me.”

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Jack asks, because she can never be too careful.

“Because I don’t even know you. Why would I want to kill you?”

Jack didn’t know Felix. She never had any extended conversation with him and he still wants to kill her. Gunerz didn’t know the men who shot him, but he still ended up as ashes. Ryan didn’t know the soldier, who managed to tear through that train car, but he still fell.

Ignorance has never been an excuse. In Jack’s experience, it is often the leading cause of death.

“But fine,” Meg continues. “Trust me or not, I don’t really care. It’s Burnie that wants you- not me.”

Jack has two options.

The first option is that she can walk away. She can leave Gavin to his imposter, a minor threat that doesn’t need more than one Hunter’s attention. She can walk back to the elevator and go back to investing Felix’s motives. She can save her own skin, so that she can hopefully get back on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s grace list

The second option is much more risky. She can follow Meg’s directions- walk into the room that leads to Gavin’s ‘Nest’. She might be double-crossed- killed before she even takes a step. She has no reason to trust this woman and it might lead to a bloody death. An impossible risk with little reward.

She takes option two.

She keeps her eyes on Meg, as she approaches the door. The woman barely blinks, keeping two steady eyes on every single one of Jack’s movements. Her hands are in her pockets, close to her arrows, but far enough away that Jack can get her shield, before Meg could draw. Gavin might be able to shoot her down, if he got lucky, but Meg doesn’t seem as practiced. She might call herself ‘Hawkeye’, but there have been Captain Americas that have been nothing but wood on the back of a redneck, wearing an American flag t-shirt.

A name does not indicate skill levels.

Jack walks through the door and shuts it, behind her.

\---

“Where’s Meg?” Gavin demands, the moment that Jack walks into the room. He is standing over his own bed and surrounded by too many medics. Jack barely even has time to wonder about the purpose of them, when she notices the blood.

Too much blood. Blood that soaks through Gavin’s bed- turning once white sheets crimson. Blood that drips from Gavin’s hands and from the gloves of the medics. There is far too much blood.

“What happened?” Jack asks, eyes drawn to the limp figure on the bed. He’s hard to identify- too many holes in too many places- but his eyepatch gives it away. “Burns?”

“He got hit by the Vagabond. Now, where the hell is Meg?” Gavin exclaims, sounding much harsher than he usually does. For a normally excitable man, it is a very drastic change to see him so angry. He’s trembling, teeth gnashed and arms crossed over his chest. His bow is at his side, leaning against his leg, but he doesn’t seem to notice it. He is too angry to care.

“You know her?” She isn’t an imposter? Or is she and Gavin just doesn’t mind? Why does he seem so obsessed with her and why doesn’t he care that Burns is literally unresponsive? What the hell is going on?

“No shit, you bloody sausage. Now, where the hell is she?” Gavin exclaims, voice cracking with his fury. Jack has never seen him angry and she never wants to, again.

Jack points at the door, stunned. “She’s inside.”

Gavin grabs his bow and reaches back to grab an arrow off of his shoulder. He doesn’t even look at Jack, anymore. He just walks to the door, armed and dangerous, ready to shoot at any moment.

Is Meg the enemy? Is she this ‘Vagabond’, or is she just some common villain? Why is Gavin prepared to shoot her? What has she ever done to him?

“Meg?” Gavin calls out, stupidly. Why is he alerting her to his presence? Why is he warning her that he is about to attack?

None of this is making sense and Jack feels like she accidentally crossed into a parallel universe, where the world is ridiculous and no one explains anything.

There’s a yell, muffled by the door and Gavin literally slumps with relief. He replaces his arrow in its quiver and  slings his bow over his shoulder. Apparently, a yell informed him that he didn’t need to be afraid of something?

“Get in here, you damn pleb!” Gavin responds. His previous anger has been ebbed and now there is only relief in his voice.

The medics don’t seem to notice the commotion- don’t even seem to care when Meg walks in and Gavin pulls her into a hug, so deep, Meg has to pull back to breathe.. They just circle around Burns, slipping various tubes into his arms and filling them with substances that Jack will never be able to name.

“You don’t have to worry so much, Gav. I can handle myself.” The not-imposter assures. She doesn’t step away, though. She lets him hold her, until he decides to move away. It doesn’t look like that will happen, anytime soon.

“Not against the bloody Vagabond, you can’t. If he wants through you, you’re dead.”

What the hell is going on? Why does he sound so protective? Gavin Free has never been protective. This feels _wrong_.

“I’m a better shot than you think.”

“So’s he.” Gavin mutters, almost too low to hear.

And Jack can’t take it, anymore. None of it makes sense, and there are too many oddities, and she needs to settle this, before her brain bursts.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she pauses and gestures to the two Hawkeyes, who are still fiercely hugging. “Whatever this is, but who is she?”

Gavin finally breaks away, but keeps one arm on Meg’s shoulder.

“This is Meg Turney. She’s my sidekick.” He says, like it is the plainest thing in the world.

“You have a sidekick?”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Don’t you?”

“No. When did you get that happen?” Jack asks, awed by this sudden revelation. She has worked with Gavin for two years and he has never even hinted at a partner, besides Lindsay.

“I’m right here,” Meg announces, displeased. “And I prefer to call it a partnership.”

“Sorry. When did you two become ‘partners’.” Jack asks, awkwardly, like she is testing the word.

“About four years ago.” Meg answers.

“Why didn’t you mention her?”

“You never asked.” Gavin says, simply.

“No! That’s not an excuse!” When there isn’t a response, Jack just lets out a sigh and rubs at her forehead with her hand. No matter what she says, Gavin will just shrug it off, so she might as well not even argue. There are more important things to talk about. “So, what happened to Burns?”

Gavin tenses, his left arm reaching down to grab hold of his bow, like it can stop even the mention of whatever it was that hurt Burns. He glances down at the bloody man on his bed, then looks at Meg, before finally locking his eyes on Jack.

For her part, Meg looks as confused as Jack feels.

“He got marked by the Vagabond,” The archer scowls, uncharacteristically furious. “Burnie might as well be dead, already. Now, he’s gonna hunt all of us.”

“Real compassionate, Gav.” Jack mutters.

She watches the medics circle around Burnie, sticking him with needles and prodding and poking at his wounds. There’s still too much blood and the bag, that is feeding it back into his veins, isn’t giving enough. He’s bleeding out all the blood that they’re forcing back into him and an array of stitches and butterfly bandages are barely helping, at all. It just keeps dripping out between the seams, unable to clot.

That’s wrong. He should be clotting, by now. His blood should stop flowing and he should be fine, if he has been here long enough to get stitches. This shouldn’t be happening.

“Is he poisoned?” She asks, finally.

“Probably. The Vagabond always gets his kill. Wouldn’t be shocked if he resorted to poison to get his way. He’s a damn maniac.”

“Why’s he so special? I’m pretty sure mercenaries are supposed to always get their kill,” Meg says, obviously not as worried as Gavin, which doesn’t make sense, at all. If she really has been his partner for years, shouldn’t she know his enemies? Shouldn’t she know about the mercenary that managed to turn Burnie Burns into a mess of blood and bruises? “You’ve never lost a hit, either, Mr. Never-missed-a-shot.”

“He’s a nutter, that’s why! At least I have a goal. He just runs around, like a mentalist, killing anyone who damn sees him. No one knows who he is or where he’s from, ‘cause anyone who tries gets a knife in their back!” He glances at the director, who looks paler than even Ray ever could, and Ray hasn’t seen the sun for years. “I don’t know what he did to the Vagabond, but I don’t want to know. We are not getting involved in this!”

And no, that is not going to happen. If this mercenary was able to take on Burnie Burns and walk away unscathed, it would be a hard fight, if not impossible. He must be a sniper or an explosives master- both things that an infantryman like Jack is not equipped to handle. Gavin, on the other hand, is extraordinary with long ranged weaponry. She needs him. She can’t just let this opportunity slip away.

And if Meg is anywhere near Gavin’s skill levels, Jack wants her help, too. This Vagabond is obviously a threat and she’ll need all the help she can get. Jack works at her best when she has a team. She needs them, if she is to succeed.

While it seems wrong that the, normally, careless Gavin is this hesitant, Jack doesn’t have time to waste. If the Vagabond really does want Burns dead, he might be able to track him. Jack can’t let that happen.

“I hate to break it to you,” Jack says, reaching to grab hold of Gavin’s once-white sheets. “But his blood is all over you. You’re already involved.”

“No, he came for you. I have no part in this,” Gavin reaches into his pocket, and when he retracts his hand, there is a flash drive sitting on his palm. “This is why he came. To give it to you- not us. I have absolutely nothing to do with this.”

“Yeah, I’m sure this ‘Vagabond’ guy will definitely believe that.” Jack says, sarcastically.

“But it’s true!” The archer exclaims. Jack is sure that, if she watches him carefully enough, she will be able to see the gears turning in his head.

“Doesn’t mean he’ll believe you.” Meg comments. When Gavin looks away, Jack shoots her a grin, thankful that she is on her side.

“We’re not taking on the Vagabond,” Gavin says, with finality. He pauses, when Meg catches his eye. “We’ll watch over Burns, but we are not fighting that minging crackpot. I like life!”

“Speak for yourself,” Meg scoffs, eyes rolling. Gavin glares at her, ferocity behind his eyes, and Meg rolls her own, again. “Fine. I’ll stay here for now, but if they need help, I’m going. I’m not just gonna sit here, doing nothing.”

“Fine.” Gavin mutters, obviously displeased with it, but knowing that he won’t be able to stop her, if she really wants to go. He’s never been able to, before. He won’t be able to, now.

It’s a good start, for now. If he gave in, already, it will not be too difficult to wean him into giving in, completely.

“Do you think you can fill me in on this guy? His hobbies or something?” She doesn’t want to fight him, unprepared- doesn’t want to fight him, unless she has to. Burns is a high profile target. She needs to know who hired him and she needs to know why, before she even tries to make a move.

“Ask Lin-” Gavin pauses, when he remembers that the medics are still there, and they are probably listening to every word of this conversation. “Widow. Ask Widow. She knows more than I do about him.”

“Where is she?”

“Talking to the doc. She’s on the same crazy boat as you. You two are nutters,” Meg laughs, and Gavin shakes his head. “You’re nuts, too. Wanting to join in their little raft of crazy.”

“Their raft of crazy?” Meg laughs.

“The weight of their dumb makes them float!” Gavin exclaims. As much as Jack wants to let it slide, so that she can go find Lindsay, Meg doesn’t.

“That doesn’t make sense at all.”

“ _You_ don’t make sense! At least, I don’t want to fight the greatest mercenary ever- of all time! I’m not the senseless one!”

This conversation is not helping. It isn’t getting them any closer to helping save Burns’s life and right now, that is Jack’s priority. She needs to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. is after her and Burns has to have that information. He is the leader! He has to know!

Unless-

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is after me.” Jack mutters, while the hamster in her head begins to spin in its wheel.

“What?” Gavin asks, dumbfounded.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is trying to kill me. They set Nutt and Felix on me.”

“Why is S.H.I.E.L.D. going after Captain America? Aren’t you their poster girl or something?” The smarter Hawkeye asks. She keeps her eyes on the medics, like they are more threatening than Burns’ attacker. “No, they’re probably not trying to kill you. It’s probably just a big misunderstanding.”

“They shot at me.” Jack deadpans.

Gavin pauses, following Meg’s lead in staring at the medics. He looks away quickly, keeping his eyes set on Jack.

“Nah, probably just a training drill. God knows, they’ve shot at me enough. Mingy little pricks.” What is he- Oh.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Common thing. I swear, I don’t know why I work here. I always end up getting shot at. There’s always people everywhere trying to shoot at me. I’m a sniper, not a damn Mogar!” A bad lie, but it's enough. It's easy enough to see through, but obscure enough that the medics might overlook it. Gavin is eccentric enough that it might pass through needlessly.

The medics work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and if S.H.I.E.L.D. really is trying to kill Jack, they have her surrounded. Gavin might not be very articulate with his hints, but Jack is paranoid enough that his meaning makes sense.

They can’t talk, here. There are eyes, everywhere.

“If you say so.” Jack relents, if only to ensure that the agents don’t get too suspicious.

“I’ll go grab Lindsay,” Meg offers. “You guys can keep an eye on Burnie.” Or, rather, they would keep watch on the medics.

“I’ll come with,” Gavin responds, not willing to leave her alone with the Vagabond, on the loose. On any other occasion, Meg might have ignored him and went out on her own, but this is more for his reassurance than for hers. She can give him this- just this once. “Cap, you stay here.”

Jack agrees, if only to have someone keep an eye on Burns.

Meg is the first to leave, but Gavin is not very far behind. He stalks behind her, holding his bow in one hand and his golden sunglasses in the other. On any other occasion, Jack would have mocked him for them, like she'd done a million times in the past.

_"I didn't think S.H.I.E.L.D. paid enough to get sunglasses like those." Jack had said, a few weeks after the Attack on Austin. It had been the last time the Hunters were together, before Michael returned to Achievement City and Ray returned  to nowhere. They were all relaxing in one of Geoff's towers, drinking and telling stories._

_Gavin had a bottle in his hand and his too-expensive glasses on his head, but he reached for his glasses with his unfree hand. The bottle crashed against the frames, knowing one of the arms off of his ear, but he didn't seem to notice._

_"They don't," Gavin grinned. The glasses fell off of his head. "But Geoff can afford them."_

Even without Meg and Gavin, the sound in the room was explosive. Too many feet moving too fast and too panicked. Too many medics and too many needles. Too many overlapping voices, discussing whether or not Burns will live through the night and, oh, what will happen if he doesn't? The agency will be screwed and they'll lose their jobs.

As if Jack doesn't know that they aren't who they say they are. These S.H.I.E.L.D. medics, who are just as honest as Felix is. Maybe it's paranoia or maybe it's just intuition, but Gavin's reaction to her concerns is making her wary. Gavin doesn't get that frazzled so quickly. He'd faced an army of Endermen without blinking an eye. These medics- that Vagabond- they are something he hasn't seen before.

One of the medics calls for morphine and another waves off her request, claiming that he doesn't need it.

"Excuse me? You're not gonna give him any pain killers?" Jack asks, because if Gavin is playing his part against the medics, Jack has to, as well.

She feels more than concerned for the injured man, who looks like he has had to run through a burning building, and then was showered with bullets on his way out. He, more than anyone, deserves a dose of morphine, but this isn’t about that. This is about keeping him alive.

"I'm sorry," the nurse says, stepping away from Burns, his hands clenched into fists. "Are you a doctor? Cause I am and I’m trying to do my fuckin’ job. So maybe shut your mouth and deal with it, you shitty excuse for a flag."

Jack is about to respond, with enough fury to send the man doubling back, but she never gets the chance.  Before she can speak, a radio crackles and the medics tense. One of them reaches for their walkie-talkie and a deep, smooth voice resounds through the room.

“He’s moving in.”

That is the only warning Jack gets, before the world descends into chaos.

The nurses hit the ground as one, hands reaching over their heads in the most practiced form of cowardice that Jack has ever seen. Jack is tempted to join them, because something big has to be coming. There are people screaming and others who are attempting to crawl to the door. Not a single one dares to move towards Burns.

Jack takes half a step towards him, before the window explodes.

Shattered glass rockets across the room, slicing nurses and Jack, alike. She can feel blood run down her arms, where the fractured pieces cut through her suit. There’s pain radiating from her face, where she knows a piece of glass is impaled. She’ll need to get that out, later, but it is not her highest priority, right now. No, that is Burns.

The heart monitor is blaring, suddenly, and there is new blood flowing from a hole in his chest. He isn’t moving- isn’t even breathing. The bullet in his heart put a stop to that.

The one with the radio barks something into it, an angry exclamation that Jack can barely pay attention to. Some of the medics run and-

Burns is dead.

And as much as Jack wants to stay and take down these medics (because they knew! They knew, and they tried to kill him, and it’s their fault- goddammit, they did it!), she doesn’t have the time.

Few snipers can shoot through a window, calculate the velocity of the bullet after the impact, and still have it hit their target so dead on. Gavin could do it, with his arrows, but Jack doesn’t know of anyone else who could.

Except, maybe, this Vagabond.

There’s a figure on a distant roof, kneeling on the brick and watching through the scope of a sniper rifle. Jack can barely catch sight of it, through the few pieces of glass that still cling to the window frame.

The gun is moving, just slightly, and- oh.

Jack ducks and barely manages to avoid cracking her head on Burns’ bed. She hears the unmistakable  _whoosh_ as the bullet soars over her head, right where she’d been standing before she ducked.

One of the medic’s screams- the one who had refused Burns morphine, Jack notes. She looks back to see him cowering on the floor, hands over his head and limbs trembling. He looks so panicked that, for a second, Jack worries that he’d taken that bullet for her. Her fears are misplaced. She can see a hole in the wall, where it had landed. Nowhere near that terrified traitor.

Jack doesn’t bother to waste anymore time. Any second now, the sniper could readjust his aim, and Jack wouldn’t put it past him to shoot her through the wall.

She gets to her feet and rips her shield off of her back, violently. She has adrenaline flowing faster than ever before, and feels about ready to burst.

She doesn’t hesitate- doesn’t even bother to think. She gets one foot on the window frame and then she is leaping through the air.

She lands on the next roof and tucks into a roll, immediately. Her head scrapes the ground, ripping her helmet off, but she catches it as she moves. She jumps onto her feet and hurriedly replaces her mask, as she runs.

The next jump is just as uneventful, as are the next three. She just keeps moving and keeps falling several stories and pushing herself onto her feet, like it’s nothing.

She gets a good look at the Vagabond, four stories above her and five buildings away, on her sixth jump.

She can’t judge his height or his girth, not when he’s lying in the dirt, keeping an eye on her with his rifle. Hell, she cannot even see his eyes. His entire face- no, his entire head is hidden   behind a menacing skull mask. What she can see of his body is also encompassed by a thick jacket that cuts off at one of the sleeves, and is, instead, replaced but metallic plating, with three white stripes circling around his forearm.

He has multiple guns strapped to his person- on his back, his sides, his legs. Jack wouldn’t be surprise if he kept one under his mask.

A bullet slams next to Jack’s feet and she realizes that she has almost slowed to a stop. She hasn’t seen a face that strange since Flynt Coal first removed his mask. The skull looks similar enough that it has to be modeled after his deformed face. The sight of it must have distracted her too much.

She starts running again and Skull Mask keeps shooting at the ground, as she jerks from side to side at random. She makes it off of the roof, without a problem.

She is still in the air, when Skull Mask drops the sniper rifle. Instead, he reaches for a knife, by his boot, seemingly satisfied with fighting Jack in person. Jack is just grateful that he doesn’t have a machine gun with him.

Reaching the sniper is easy when she doesn’t have to dodge an array of bullets. She lands on his roof, barely 20 seconds later. The mercenary does not let her recover.

He’s on her, within a second, wielding the knife in his plated hand and swinging at her chest. Jack ducks the blow and grabs hold of the arm to throw him off balance. He stumbles, slightly, but rips his hand out of her grip, without much difficulty. The blade dances across the metal, but doesn't leave a scratch.

For a second, Jack is surprised, because there is no flesh that could move that sharply. No arm with enough force to send Captain America falling back, with just a shake. This isn’t like Geoff’s armored suit. It isn’t hollow- doesn’t have skin, underneath. There is just more and more metal.

The Vagabond- and who else could it be- lunges, again, blade dancing through the air. Jack avoids the slice and manages to send one leg swinging under his. She catches him by the ankle, sweeping his foot out from under him.

He goes down, easily, tucking himself into a roll and reaching for the pistol that is strapped to his lower leg. He gets a hold of it and rolls onto his feet.

Jack barely manages to bring her shield down in time to block his volley of bullets. He holds down the trigger, letting the automatic pistol do its work on her shield. The vibranium works its magic, and the attack only chips the paint.

The Vagabond runs out of ammunition quickly, but he doesn’t bother to replace it. He just grunts and throws it off of the roof. He doesn’t even bother with his knife- just throws it off of the building.

Jack rushes towards him, intending to take him off guard, but he isn’t even effected. He sidesteps her attack, without hesitation. She tries to stop herself, as she soars past him, but she can’t stop herself in time. The Vagabond helps with a swift kick to her side. It's just enough to force her over the edge of the building.

She's falling. She's used to falling.

She holds her shield beneath her, letting it take the impact for her. This is the second time that it doesn’t work.

A heavy weight lands on her back, sending her reeling in panic. She almost drops the shield- barely manages to hang onto it. A metal hand wraps around her throat, and she hears wires whirring as it tightens. Before it can get too tight, Jack slips free of the attempted choke hold, diving away from his grip. The mechanical arm may be strong, but it is not fast.

Jack grabs hold of the man’s jacket and swings her legs, roughly. The momentum is enough to change their positions, trapping the Vagabond beneath her, while she stays on top. He tries to flip them, again, but Jack maintains her hold for the last few feet of the fall.

The concrete caves around them, but Jack doesn’t have to deal with much of the impact. The Vagabond took the brunt of it and, by the way he is groaning, it definitely affected him. Good.

“Not so tough, now, huh?” Jack laughs, high on adrenaline and victory.

Gavin must have been exaggerating. The Vagabond might be a good sniper, but he definitely isn’t nearly as good of a fighter.

The only warning Jack gets is his growl.

He swings his metal hand and catches Jack in the chest with enough force to send her flying. She can feel her ribs crack, fracture, and break from the impact, forcing a groan from her lips. She hits the ground a few feet away- out of the hole, but not too far away from the Vagabond.

Jack gasps, desperately trying to suck air back into her winded lungs, before the Vagabond reaches her. She feels like she can’t breathe and if she can’t breathe, she can’t fight. Her hubris might have killed her.

She looks up at the sky, trying to calm herself down. All she sees are clouds and birds and- wow, that bird is very big. It must be a vulture, circling around and waiting for them. After all, one of them might die here and Jack fears that it might be her.

The ground starts to crack, loudly, drawing Jack’s attention away from the birds. She looks back towards the crater and sees the Vagabond climbing out. His left arm is hanging limp by his side. Even through his heavy jacket, there is an obvious protrusion showing by his shoulder, poking against the leather. It has to be causing pain, but the Vagabond just reaches up with the artificial arm and grabs hold of his arm, by the shoulder. He pulls on it, roughly, forcing the muscle back into place, with more force than absolutely necessary.

“Who the hell-” Jack manages, between desperate pants. “What’s wrong with you?”

The Vagabond responds with a grunt. He reaches back with his left arm, careless of any after-effects of the injury. When he pulls back, he has a pistol in his hand. He carefully aims it, as if he is testing the range of motion with the formerly dislocated limb.

Jack, defenseless as she greedily sucks in air, just stares down the barrel of the gun. She won’t be able to move quickly enough to avoid the shot. She flinches her eyes shut and waits.

The mercenary’s gloved finger tightens on the trigger, but he never gets the chance to pull it.

Something plows into the Vagabond, faster than Jack’s eyes can track, dragging him back into the crater and away from her panting form. She catches two extraordinarily large wings and one humanoid limb, before it comes to a stop across the crater.

The wings- metallic, too, Jack realizes- retract back into the small metal case on the figure’s back. She barely seems to react to the sudden shift in balance. She just rolls her shoulders and lets out a breathy chuckle.

“You’re terrible,” The woman laughs as she adjusts a pair of goggles from her eyes onto her head. “Go run another lap!”

“Caleb?” Jack asks, immediately recognizing her voice. “How the hell did you get here?”

Her lungs still screaming, Jack manages to climb to her feet. She’s too stunned to focus on her bruises and cuts.

How did Caleb get here and when did she get wings? How did Caleb even know that they were here? No matter what the answers, Jack owes her a fruit basket, too.

Caleb opens her mouth to respond, eager to explain her sudden show of heroism. Maybe she would explain how she managed to get _wings_ . Maybe she would explain how she was there, or _w_ _hy_. Why would she come face to face with the Vagabond, the mercenary who is just as dangerous as Gavin implied? Why did she care?

A hand grabs hold of Caleb’s leg and she doesn’t get the chance to explain.

Caleb is falling, tumbling down the hole and scraping her wing-case on the way down. She lets out a yell, but the Vagabond, armed and clinging to her leg, doesn’t care. He just throws her to the bottom of the crater, where she lands with a sickening crack.

Jack has her shield in hand and tries to rush him, before he can hurt Caleb any further, but the Vagabond is prepared. His metal fist slams against the shield with enough force to dent it. The force of the blow sends both of them stumbling back.

His hand should be shattered. It should have exploded into a million pieces. He should have lost the fight, thanks to that hit alone. But he didn’t, and the only material that can stand up against vibranium is vibranium.

What the fuck is with this guy?

He kicks both of his feet against the shield, sending Jack stumbling back, even more. Off balance, the Vagabond falls to the ground, but doesn’t waste any time getting up. He reaches for the assault rifle on his back and doesn’t even aim, before he starts to fire. Jack drops, letting her shield cover her entire body, barely even feeling the vibrations as the bullet strike.

The Vagabond empties his clip and tosses the gun aside. He has another one in his hand, almost immediately, but Jack is faster and it only takes one kick to send it flying through the air.

He punches, again, managing to graze the side of her head, before she can parry the blow. She rolls with it and tries to sweep a foot under his legs, but he simply pushes her to the side, before she has the chance.

Jack swings at him with her shield, but he catches it, before the blow can hit. The sharp edges don’t even scrape against his hand. With his free hand, he jabs at Jack’s stomach and while she recovers, he wrenches the shield out of her grasp. He flips it in the air and catches it on his left arm, slipping through the straps with ease. He crashes it against her chest, sending her reeling from the force of the blow. She rolls with it and ends up on her feet with ease.

The Vagabond waits for her attack, ready to defend at any moment. The sight infuriates Jack, almost making her move on principle, alone. The shield does not suit the skull mask, at all. Luckily, he won’t have it for long.

When Jack doesn’t move, he lets out a low growl, and shifts back onto the balls of his feet. With one smooth move, he pulls his arm back and then twists it back towards Jack, letting his arm slip through the straps. The weapon flings off of him, swinging at Jack with an alarming ferocity. The edges are sharp enough that it could cut out her throat if she isn’t careful, so instead of trying to catch it, she ducks and she runs.

She sprints towards her assailant, mindful of the knife that he retrieves from his holster. He swings it as soon as she comes near. She grabs his arm and forces it away, but his other hand is quick to push her back. He swings again and this time she ducks the blow. She reaches to grab the blade from him, but as soon as she comes near, he lets it drop. He retrieves it with his right arm and quickly thrusts it towards Jack’s stomach. She pulls away, quickly, but the mercenary is quick to follow.

He aims to slice for her chest, again, but Jack is faster and manages to land a punch on his head. He barely takes a second to recover, but Jack kicks out, putting all of her weight behind the blow. He stumbles back, crashing into the wall of a building. The knife slips out of his grasp, leaving him defenseless. Well, maybe defenseless isn’t the right word.

Jack stalks towards him and manages to jab him in the chest, again. He catches her hand, before she can pull it back. It is easy leverage for him, giving him access for a headbutt.

Her head explodes and suddenly she is seeing stars. She swings, blindly, but the Vagabond catches her arm and sends a punch to her side. If her ribs weren’t already hurt, they definitely are, now.

But the pain is enough to ground her in reality, so Jack risks a punch to his face. She swings to the side, banking on the idea of his peripherals being limited by his mask. It seems to pay out, because her hit lands and the Vagabond falls back and growls, again.

He scans the ground for his knife, but Jack doesn’t let him find it. She sees her shield, caught in the brickwork of a building, and she reaches for it, almost desperately. She slips it onto her arm and tears it out of the wall. There is barely any pull, as easy as pulling out a thumb tack. That might be the only good thing that has happened, today.

The Vagabond seems to notice her, because he shrugs off his search for the knife and instead turns his full attention to her. His fists clench and Jack can hear the gears turning in his the limb.

And- woah! That’s it, isn’t it? If she takes out his arm, he’ll be defenseless! All she needs to do is damage the wiring enough to make it useless, and if there is anything that Jack is good at, it’s destroying things.

The Vagabond starts to run, before Jack can even think of expecting a strike. One moment he is still and the next he is swinging at her chest with a large metal fist.

Perfect.

She twists her shield, so that the razor sharp edges are facing his arm. His hand collides with the metal, but bounces off, throwing him off balance. Jack brings her shield down, again, catching his arm between the plates and digging through to the interior. She can hear the sound of wires snapping and it is the sweetest sound she has ever heard.

The Vagabond jerks back, rearing like the slice actually hurt him, instead of just disabling him. He doesn’t vocally respond to the injury, but his white knuckled left hand is enough to make Jack celebrate. He shakes the arm, roughly, and attempts to flexes his fingers, but only three of them respond. His pinky and third finger simply remain curled against his palm.. A victory in Jack’s book.

She uses the opportunity to strike, while he's down. She doesn’t think much, just grabs onto the leather mask. She has enough momentum to swing him, up and over her shoulder, and she does it, mercilessly. He tries to roll with the movement, but her hold is too awkward. He lands on the ground backwards, but manages to get two feet and a fist on the ground, before he faceplants.

His mask stays in Jack’s hand.

He is quick to turn, not wanting to let Jack have the advantage for even a second. His fists are still clenched and his shoulders are tensed, but there is so much more, now.

The most glaring feature, beyond his bared teeth and beyond his narrowed eyes, his face is painted. Reds and whites and blacks, all strewn over each other into the strangest painting Jack has ever seen. A red forehead, stretching slightly below his eyes, cut off by layer of white, with black at the ends to signify that this is supposed to be a painting of a skull(?). Two sharp teardrops between the eyes and three thin diamonds running over the mouth. It might just be the weirdest painting an eight year old could draw (and it had to be made by a child, right? It is just too weird to have been done by anyone else).

His hair is light- somewhere between a blond and a brown that hasn’t seen shampoo in years. It’s long and, without the mask, it falls down to his shoulders.

And yet, under all that, there is that squared jaw, that chip in his front tooth, the bright blue eyes that seem to stare through Jack.

Somewhere along the line, she lost her helmet- can’t even remember when- but for now, they are both unmasked. Both alone. Just Jack staring down the man that she thought she’d lost 70 years ago.

“Ryan?” She asks, almost desperately. If this isn’t him, she might shatter, because _he can’t do that._ He can’t just remind her of Ryan and not be him. He can’t just be a mercenary. He can’t just be Burns’ killer- he can’t be that, anyway. This is Ryan. This is her friend. This is her best friend. Her dead friend. She knows it, like she knows her own name.

Maybe, in another world, they would embrace. He would look up, drop his weapons and run up to hug her, stare at her, talk to her, reminisce with her, whatever! In another world, this reunion would be a relief, after so many years of separation and assumed loss. They could talk and Ryan would be smiling that stupid grin, and Jack would be laughing, and Ryan would call off their enemies, because this is all a huge misunderstanding.

After all, he lived! Ryan lived, despite all odds and all reports! This is a happy ending, right? In another world- in every world- this is a happy ending.

But, in this world, Ryan just says “Who the hell is Ryan?”

It is his voice, his accent, his infliction. That is Ryan, without a shadow of a doubt.

What happened to him?

His face- and god, it’s good to see again, painted or not- hardens. He reaches for the gun at his side and has it aimed, before Jack can blink.

Ryan was a sniper. He isn’t a fighter, at all. Usually, he could land the first punch, but if it didn’t work, he would end up with a chipped tooth and a bloody nose. Ryan doesn’t have guns and knives and metal arms- just the one rifle. What changed?

Why happened to him?

Before he can fire, or before Jack can further question him, there is a red and black figure falling from the sky, onto his shoulders. Jack almost tells it to stop, but her mouth is too dry to speak.

The Vagabond, Ryan, whatever he is, goes down hard, not expecting the sudden assault. Lindsay stays sat on his shoulders and holding him down with a hand in his hair, shoving his face into the concrete. She shoots a quick grin at Jack, as either a reassurance or a celebration. Either way, Jack can’t appreciate it- not when Ryan is the one that she's hurting.

Ryan reaches back, viciously, and manages to get a hand on her chest. It doesn’t seem to take him much effort to shove her off, but Lindsay practically flies from the force of his push. She lands on all fours, but still slides a few yards back.

Distantly, there are cars racing towards them, tires burning through the streets. Caleb is climbing out of the crater, checking her wing-suit for any damage. Lindsay is reaching for the gun at her waist.

But to Jack, none of that matters. Ryan, the Vagabond, the metal arm, the confusion- they matter. Right now, that is all that matters.

Ryan looks like a wounded animal, backed into a corner and showing his teeth. His eyes move wildly, from Jack to Caleb to Lindsay to something beyond them. He reaches down to his belt, keeping his eyes darting between them.

Jack says his name, again, and she doesn’t miss the way that Lindsay’s eyes widen. She has read Jack’s file. She knows all her friends- dead or alive. She knows about Ryan Haywood- how he lived, how he died, how they never found his body on that icy mountain. She believes it, too.

Ryan hesitates for a moment, but it does not last too long. He looks back to the street behind them, where five military grade vehicles were enclosing on them. He grabs hold of something in his belt, lifts his hand, and drops it.

Jack has spent enough time, in the field, to know what a grenade looks like.

Lindsay dives into the crater, safe behind the concrete barricade that Ryan’s back created.

She did that, didn’t she? She used her best friend as padding. She held him down, forced him to face the full force of the collision. She attacked him, sliced through his arm like it was nothing. She did that.

She feels too distracted- everything is moving way too fast. One moment, she is standing there, staring at Ryan’s grenade, while the next, she is being held behind a crater by the winged woman she has known for less than a week.

The explosion is loud, but it isn’t much compared to the ringing in Jack’s ears.

A cloud of shrapnel, from various cars and buildings, showers over them. A troop of cars skids to a stop and a legion of soldiers piles out of them. All of them are armed, with riot shields and guns. None of them face Ryan.

Caleb lets go and Jack pulls herself over the hole, onto the solid ground, but Ryan isn’t there. He’s gone, vanished into a cloud of smoke. Again.

One of the soldiers is screaming at her to put down her shield. Get on the ground or we will shoot!

Would they fire? Jack is not the bad guy, here. Ryan is not the bad guy, either. This is all a huge misunderstanding. S.H.I.E.L.D. must think that she was plotting against Burns, because of Ryan. If she can explain that Ryan doesn’t seem to be in the right state of mind, they can help her fix him. She can remind him that he isn’t a murderer and this whole mess can end without any further bloodshed.

Jack drops her shield, and it isn’t long before she is in handcuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kate Bishop was in the movies, right? Right?!


	7. Two Heads and a Bloody Flag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if anyone here is from Corpus Christi, I’d like to apologize in advance.
> 
> Fun Fact- Ryan’s codenames ranged from Winter Soldier, Mad King, Mad Soldier, Winter King, all variations of the above, That Asshole Who Fights Good, Skull Mask, and finally the cliche Vagabond. So, here’s to say 75% of all my ideas are terrible. Cheers!

“It was him,” Jack says, quietly. Her arms are pinned behind her back, keeping her from grabbing onto Lindsay’s arms. She wants to, but it doesn't matter. The hushed excitement shows in her voice, anyway. “It was him. I know it.”

They are trapped in the back of police van, watched by two heavily armored soldiers, one with a rifle and one with a riot shield. Both glare at them, and the gunman has a twitchy trigger finger, but Jack is too excited to care. 

Ryan is back- Ryan is back- Ryan is back! She wants to scream it to the heavens and she wants the heavens to scream it back! She wants to scream it to the world, so that all of them can know that what they knew was wrong! He isn’t dead. 70 years later and he isn’t dead!

“It’s who?” Caleb asks. She doesn’t know Ryan, hasn’t read his files. She hasn’t seen his face, and she barely even saw it, today. Or, maybe, she knew, but the face paint got in the way. It was hard to see, but the resemblance was clear to Jack and Lindsay. Maybe, it wasn’t so clear to a civilian (if Caleb could even be called that, anymore). But it doesn't matter if Caleb knows, because the world is about to. 

“It was Ryan,” At Caleb's blank look, Jack continues. "Ryan Haywood. My team- he was our sniper. My best friend. We thought he-”

But he didn't die. Everything, since the Fall was a lie. Their seven person team being cut down to six. Their final fight being fought with five soldiers and without their extra set of eyes in the trees. The days spent at the bottom of glasses. The years spent thinking of falling- falling- falling, like a sick mantra that has stalked her through the decades. 

Ryan lived and everything has changed, because of it.

"He's the guy that fell off the cliff, right?" Caleb asks, eyes alight with understanding. Jack tenses, a little, at the memory, and Caleb notices. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Jack answers, shrugging it off, but feeling her heart sting at the nonchalant way she had announced it.

Ryan might have lived, but he still fell. That was real. He fell and somewhere along the way, he lost his arm. He became what he is, because Jack hadn't caught him. He fell, and he fell, and he fell, and he landed in a new life. A life without the name Ryan Haywood. A life with a skull mask and skills that Jack would never have considered him having.

He's killed people. He killed enough to make S.H.I.EL.D. agents, like Gavin, wary of him. That feat is not so easily achieved. He killed the director of a multinational top secret agency.

All because Jack couldn't save him.

"I just don't understand how he survived." Lindsay comments, after a few moments of silence. One of the guards huffs, wanting a return to the earlier silence. Lindsay ignores them.

"It was a snowy mountain. He probably fell into a large snow bank." It was possible, right? If he survived, anything has to be possible. Maybe Gunerz hadn't disintegrated, after all. Maybe he had just been teleported away to the land of gumdrops and rainbows. At the very least, it is a nice thought to have.

"How about the fact that he fell in the 40's? The Vagabond has been around for 60 years, Cap. I can't see a 90 year old putting up too much of a fight, against us. He almost killed you."

"Twice." Caleb adds, unhelpfully.

"I don't know," Jack answers. Her mind feels jumbled, like all of her thoughts are at the end of completely separate tunnels, and she has to run a mile to reach a single one. "Maybe the ice froze him, or something. That's a thing, right?"

“So, your theory is that he fell into the snow. 10 years later, he shows up with a metal arm, martial arts training, and immortality. Sounds legit.” Lindsay snarks, quirking an eyebrow in disbelief. 

It doesn’t make sense, does it? No, there is something else in play here that Jack isn’t noticing. Something that should be clear, but it has been too many years, and nothing is clear in this new age.

It has to tie into Felix and Mark Nutt’s attack. There is something there, a reason that S.H.I.E.L.D. would stand behind them in their treachery.

Unless it wasn’t treachery. Unless S.H.I.E.L.D. is standing behind them, because they agree with them. Someone in S.H.I.E.L.D., someone higher than Felix or Nutt, wants Jack dead. Or maybe, they wanted her distracted. Burns was attacked during Jack’s fight with Nutt. Jack had a message from Burns, when she walked into the building. Someone had to send that message, while Burns was busy bleeding out on a bed. Someone was playing them like cards. They planned this and Ryan has something to do with it.

But what happened? What isn’t Jack piercing together?

Who would most want Burns dead? Who hates S.H.I.E.L.D. enough to kidnap a man from the ‘40s and turn him into a warrior? How could that even happen?

For a second, Jack thinks back to Kdin and the Attack on Austin. She remembers the panic- remembers S.H.I.E.L.D. firing missiles at a busy city. She had thought it was sickening then, but now, it is only suspicious. There is something there that Jack can’t quite grasp.

What was she thinking of, while that was going on? It is hard to remember in the adrenaline of it, but Geoff was encouraging her, there was something about Flynt Coal, and then Geoff was flying off to win the war for them. None of it-

Flynt Coal. Hydra.

_ ‘ _ _ Cut off one head, two more shall take it’s place.’ _

That was a warning and Jack didn’t bear it much heed. She’d killed one head, but did not bother to go for the heart.  She left the Hydra with an open wound. She gave it time for the injury to develop into an advantage.

‘ _ Two more shall take it’s place. _ ’

They had Ryan, once. For 23 days, they had him, right in the palm of their grimy little hand. They had taken him and they did something to him. He’d forgotten for a few seconds, when he saw Jack. Forgotten her- forgotten everything. She had chocked it up to her own growth and the drugs, but Ryan just gaped at her, like a fish out of water. Even then, she ignored it and just threw him out of a building.

He’d been drugged and Jack just pretended that nothing had happened. She ran missions, risking his life, every single times. She had brought him back to Hydra, too many times. If they had gotten their hands on him, again, would he still have become the Vagabond? Or would they just have killed him, on the spot?

Jack doesn’t know. The only clear thing in her mind is that this is her fault.

“Lester,” She mutters, almost too low to hear. “His whole unit got captured in ‘44. I found him drugged to the gills. Something they put in him could have helped him survive the fall.”

And she didn’t notice.

“It’s possible,” Lindsay admits, looking at the ground, instead of Jack. “But he would still be in his 90’s, by now. I didn’t exactly see him fighting with a cane.”

And wouldn’t that be a sight to see? Ryan Haywood taking down Captain America with an old man’s cane. He could probably do it, too. He isn’t an amatuer, anymore, that’s for sure.

“They found him. Who knows what the hell they did to him?”

Caleb must have seen something on her face, because she looks at Jack with more sympathy on her face, then she has ever known.

“It’s not your fault that they got him, you know.” Her voice is soft and her shoulders are slumped, but Jack doesn’t want her kindness. 

Ryan is working for Hydra, because Jack couldn’t keep him safe. Ryan doesn’t even know who he is, because Jack didn’t bother to ask him about what they did to him. Ryan fell, because Jack let him.

She wants to throw up, but she doesn’t even have the drive to do that.

“They probably would have gotten him, no matter what you did.” Lindsay adds, more thoughtful than sympathetic. Jack appreciates that, right now. She can’t handle sympathy, when she is the reason that Ryan is in Hydra’s hands.

“Huh?” If Ryan didn’t fall, they could never have found him. He was a sniper, a ranged shooter. No Hydra agent would have gotten within a mile of him.

“If they already had the Vagabond, why would they just let him go?”

“I rescued him. He got away. They couldn’t even get near him.” And they couldn’t. Ryan spent most of his time with others. C Team, or the soldiers, or anyone else in their base. The only time he was alone was when he was sniping, and even then, he always had C Team somewhere near.

He might have had their drugs, but they wouldn’t have found him. Flynt Coal didn’t even care about him, when they first met.

(A sick part of her tells her that Lester did. Lester watched Ryan, like a vulture waiting for the beast to die. She tells that part to shut up.)

“They would have found him, eventually. People don’t just let assets, like that, go, without a fight. Trust me,” She says, dryly. “I know from experience.”

But couldn’t they find better assets? Assets that didn’t fight them? Assets that didn’t kill them? What was one drug to war?

“But they didn’t have him. We could have protected him.”

“From a threat, you didn’t even know existed? Yeah, good luck with that,” Lindsay scoffs. “They still would have gotten their Vagabond, but they would have a dead Captain America to show for it. You can’t fight an army, Jack.”

“But we did.” Jack defends, thinking back to a strategy that barely worked. That shield held five of them, but six was a stretch. Even if he fit, they wouldn’t have let him anywhere near the building. He would have been off shooting in a tree, somewhere. They might have swarmed him, and Jack wouldn’t even know.

“Really? Because if Burnie was right, one of you died, the rest of you ran, and you ended up submerged in the arctic. You really think you would have gotten him out of there, if you hadn’t been expecting them?”

Jack doesn’t respond- doesn’t think that she even can. After all, what can she say to that? ‘Yes, you are completely right. I should be happy that Ryan is with Hydra, right now’ or ‘Thank god, he fell off that cliff, when he did’. 

“It’s not good- what happened to him- but you couldn’t have prevented it.” Caleb offers, taking Lindsay’s side, without much hesitation. And why? Why does she even care? Jack has known her for all of an hour, and already, they are handcuffed in the back of a S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier. She shouldn’t be trying to help Jack. She should be cursing her name and telling her that this is her fault.

Jack is still quietly contemplating this, when the van jerks to the right. It’s a rough movement, sending Caleb sprawling across the floor of car. Jack and Lindsay, on the left side of the vehicle, stick to the wall, and catch Caleb with their legs. She stays on the ground, in a position too awkward to right, with her hands tied behind her back.

The guard with the shield grunts, making no move to help Caleb back to her feet. Apparently, they were just going to let her stay on the ground, for the rest of the ride. Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D., whoever is paying them, they really are assholes.

The van is stopped, but Jack has a feeling that it wasn’t a natural break. That turn was too sharp, too fast. They had turned into a stop. Why? There wasn’t traffic, or they would have at least slowed to a rest.

What the hell is going on?

The guard with the gun pushes onto their feet, letting the tip of her rifle scrape against the ground. Her radio blares, an incoherent voice garbling nonsense, loudly. The other guard tilts their head, confused, and feels for their own radio. Their hand closes around nothing.

The guard raises their rifle, pulls the trigger, and watches as blood and brain splatters against the wall. Some of it lands on Caleb’s foot, and the poor medic lets out a loud shriek, kicking at her own shoe, in a desperate attempt to get it off. The not-guard just laughs.

“Stop panicking. They were Hydra,” The not-guard says. She drops her rifle, next to the shield, and tears off her helmet, without hesitation. “Thank god. That thing was squishing my brain.”

Jack quickly takes note of her appearance, just in case she has to hide it, again. Blonde hair, particularly angular face, no scars. Could have been Hydra or S.H.I.E.L.D., and Jack would never have figured either way.

“Ashley?” Lindsay asks, recognizing her instantly. She smiles, and manages to get onto her feet, without any problem. She turns, showing her bound hand to ‘Ashley’, who already has a key in hand.

“We need to get you guys out of here, before they send reinforcements,” Ashley explains. She kneels down, to help Caleb free of her binds, while Jack stumbles away from the bench, almost falling to the floor, immediately. It really is uncomfortable to walk, without use of her hands. She feels off balance. “The Hawkeyes should be outside, but they can’t hold off all of Hydra.”

“Gavin’s not pussying out?”

“Well, Meg isn’t. I’m pretty sure, she threatened to kill Gavin, if he didn’t help.”

“I’m sorry, what the hell is going on?” Caleb asks, rubbing at her raw wrists.

Jack turns, giving Ashley easy access to her bound hands. There’s a few moments of fumbling, as she turns the lock at an awkward angle, but it isn’t long, before Jack is free. She scratches at the indents in her skin, where the Hydra agents had tightened the cuffs to extraordinary levels. There is a ring of redness, where the chain had been, but it isn’t nearly as painful. It feels nice to not have the metal hooks biting against her.

Now, she just needs to find her shield, and she can start her search for Ryan. Screw Hydra, screw S.H.I.E.L.D.. She has a best friend to rescue.

“So, long story short, S.H.I.E.L.D. is compromised.”

“Yeah, that’s not where I wanted you to start that story. Who are you?” Caleb pushes, looking even more confused than Jack felt.

“How about we start the story, where you got wings?” Jack retorts. She had only known Caleb for a few minutes, and when she saw her, again, he had wings. That is definitely the sort of thing that needs an explanation, even more so than this ‘Ashley.’

Caleb, at least, has enough self-reflection to look sheepish. “I told you, I was a paratrooper. I just never said what kind.”

“And how did Lindsay find you?” A quick glance at the spy shows that Lindsay isn’t even paying attention. She has something in hand, something that Ashley gave her, that she is studying with a severe intensity.

“I honestly don’t know. You can ask her?”

“When Burnie got hit, I figured we needed help,” Lindsay responds, without looking up. “Geoff was an idiot, and melted his suits, so, I took the guy with wings. I thought it was a good idea.”

“How did you know she had wings?”

“Because it’s Tuggey.” Ashley comments, without any hint of humor. There is a reason that Lindsay is respected within S.H.I.E.L.D., and it isn’t only because of her fighting skills (though that does play a part).

“S.H.I.E.L.D. has files on everyone. I just happen to read them.”

“All of them?” Ashley asks, guffawing at that. Lindsay just nods.

Jack can sympathize with Ashley, even if it might be for a differing reason. Ashley is surprised that Lindsay had the patience to read through so many files. Jack, on the other hand, has seen her read phone books, just because she wanted to know how many people had X’s in their names. Lindsay has a fair deal of patience.

But what Jack takes from that is much more interesting. If SHIELD has files on everyone, then they have to have one for Ryan. Places that he would hide, people that he interacted with. Jack could find him, so easily, if she could get her hands on those files.

But as desperately as she wants to find her friend, there are bigger things at stake, here. If Ryan survived 70 years with Hydra, surely he could last a few more hours.

“They have files on everyone? Isn’t that a little-” Jack trails off, unsure of how to continue.

“Creepy?” Caleb finishes, and Jack nods.

“It’s for Future Cube. They need to keep an eye on everyone, if they want to shoot them into oblivion.” Lindsay spat, obviously just as uncomfortable with the idea of this as Jack is. It almost makes her smile.

“You knew about Future Cube?”

“I’m a Level 10, Jack.” And that’s as good of a reason as any. Lindsay probably had access to everything in S.H.I.E.L.D., when Jack was still in the ice. She has been the best for a very long time. 

“I don’t know what that is.” Caleb states, honestly. That does make Jack smile, weak as her grin may be.

“As much as I love talking about our failures, and I really do, how about we get moving?” Ashley offers, making it sound more like a suggestion than an order.

"Can we get our stuff, first? It wouldn't be too much fun to fight bad guys, without my wings."

"And my shield." Jack adds, crossing her arms over her chest. She isn't leaving here, without her shield.

"They're both in the front seat. Grab your stuff, and then get into the Roosevelt."

"The president?" Jack asks, only half joking.

"Just for that," Ashley comments. "You're hanging off the side."

She approaches the door, hesitating for only a second, before she lifts her foot, and smashes it against the entrance. It breaks open, swinging to the side, roughly. Ashley holds it open, with one arm, and gestures for the others to go. Lindsay is the first, running without any hesitation. Caleb follows, a little more hesitant, while Jack escapes, after her. Ashley takes up the rear, the only one armed with something more than her fists.

Jack wishes she went first. 

There are armored trucks, all skidding to a stop behind them. There are a few already running towards them, armed with rifles and pistols. Too much Kevlar, and not enough free skin. They prepared for this fight.

Caleb is already by the front of the car, cradling her suit lovingly against her side. She is quick to strap it on, letting it settle against her spine, before she reaches back into the front seat to get Jack’s shield. She takes a few moments with it, almost making Jack take her attention off of the Hydra soldiers, before finally stumbling out, dropping the heavy weight of Jack’s shield.

Jack lets out a low sigh, before sprinting over to grab her only real defense. She lifts it with ease, hauling it up and onto her arm, without shedding a drop of sweat. She grins, when she sees Caleb’s mouth hung open, with her eyes trained on the shield.

“Go run another lap,” Caleb finally says, when she corrects her jaw. “You’re losing your edge.”

Jack almost laughs- would have, on any other occasion, but today, she doesn’t have the drive. There are too many enemies, too many threats, and one too many Ryan’s for Hydra to exploit.

Would they hurt him? Now that Jack knows who he is, are they going to hurt him? Could they kill him? Would they eliminate such a powerful ally, just because it would hurt Jack?

She wants to think not, but she knows Hydra. She has fought them, from the start. She knows how they work and how they think. They had a connection to Ryan, before, but they still shot him off of that train. They couldn’t have known that he would survive.

A moment ago, she was ready to laugh, but now she feels ready to throw up. She just found Ryan, just found her best friend after so many years. She can’t lose him, again.

She won’t.

There are arrows flying by her head, and bullets soaring the other way, but Jack doesn’t care for any of it. She stalks towards Ashley’s car, burning with a murderous intent.

Somewhere, Gavin and Meg are sprinting to reach the Roosevelt, Ashley is shooting at armed forces, Lindsay is looking for a gun, and Caleb is preparing to spread her wings and fly. Somewhere, people are at least grounded in reality, but Jack is nowhere, and her world is grounded with hatred.

If they ever put a hand on Ryan, Hydra will die. Not just in the way that Flynt Coal did. Everyone in Hydra will die a cold and bloody death. And Jack will be the one holding the knife.

\---

Ashley wasn't joking about hanging off of the side. Jack has both arms clinging to the top of the Roosevelt, desperately holding on for dear life. The wind is rushing into her eyes, blinding her, while an endless amount of bugs fly into her chest. She has more dead flies on her chest, than she ever did from jumping off of too-many buildings.

Gavin is on the other end of the car, looking absolutely disgusted. His sunglasses are hanging on, by one arm, ready to fling off of his head at any moment. His hair bats against them, wildly, like it is desperately trying to rid Gavin of those appalling frames. 

His bow is settled on his shoulder, and he seems more worried about it than the ride. Only one of his arms is holding onto the roof, while the other is protectively curved around his favored weapon. He could have given it to Meg, who sits comfortably in the back seat, with Caleb, but pride won him over, and left him with only one free hand, with which to hold on.

There are others chasing them, and occasionally, Jack can feel the vibrations of a bullet hitting her shield, but it doesn’t last for long. Lindsay is a better driver than most, and manages to swerve them through traffic, without scraping Jack or Gavin onto any other cars. Jack really does appreciate that.

She has no idea where they are going, or how they plan to get there, but Jack knows that they have a plan, and that is enough. Any plan will get her closer to her goal. Any plan will have her saving her best friend. Ryan Haywood is getting home, and no one can stop that.

They keep driving and occasionally, Gavin screams something, but the wind carries it away, before Jack can hear.

They are clear targets, blowing through streetlights, with Captain America and Hawkeye hanging onto the roof, but somehow, they get away. Before long, there aren’t Hydra vans chasing them, and no helicopters overhead. Somehow, in the midst of their escape, Hydra lost track of them. They are eternally grateful.

At some point, they slow to a stop, underneath a busy bridge, while the world’s police are hunting them down. Lindsay is the first out of the car, getting out before even the two outside could get the chance to come down. She is smiling, like a wolf that has just found its prey. Jack doesn’t like that smile.

Jack lets go of the roof, letting her sore fingers have a well deserved break. She rubs at the indents in her hand, where she pressed a little too hard, while she clung for her life. She shakes her fingers, letting blood flow back into the suffering digits.

On the other side of the car, Gavin seems to be going through the same process. He is muttering something, unintelligible, while Meg, Caleb, and Ashley stroll out of the vehicle. He shouts something at them, but Jack’s ears are still adjusting to a life without wind, and she can barely even understand what he’s saying.

Ashley has her phone in her hand, and she is already shouting something into it, only moments after the ride ended. The man on the other end is yelling, but his voice is too static-y to comprehend.

“Tell SHEILA to send it under the bridge, before Ignuf finds out where we are. I’d rather not get shot, right now.” She demands, sounding more like a leader than Geoff ever could.

“Ignuf?” Jack directs the question at anyone, not really knowing who would have the answer. Gavin and Lindsay, probably. Meg, maybe. Caleb, definitely not.

“Head of the Council,” Lindsay answers, not paying much attention to the question. She has an eye on Ashley’s phone, and looks just about ready to tear it out of her hands. “Massive douchebag. If Ashley’s against him, he’s probably an even more of a dickhead.”

“Okay,” Caleb says, uncertainly. “Can someone explain what the Council is? Or Hydra? Or who any of you are, because I am really confused, right now.”

And Jack, ever the asshole, holds out a hand to her, intending to shake. “I’m Jack Pattillo.”

The look on Caleb’s face is priceless. She doesn’t shake her hand.

“Gavin,” Gavin says, before pausing. “If you tell anyone that, I’ll probably have to shoot you. Please don’t tell people.”

“Meg,” Meg says, grabbing onto Caleb’s hand, and forcing the handshake. “You can tell people about me. I’m the nicer one.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.”

“It’s very true.” Lindsay adds, shooting Meg a grin.

Ashley cancels her call, after a few more cursed words, and trudges over to the rest of them. Her phone is still in hand, when Lindsay sends Gavin a quick nod.

When Jack looks again, the phone is in Gavin’s hand, and Ashley hasn’t noticed.

“Ashley Jenkins, former deputy director of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” She says, to Caleb, before addressing the rest of the group. Jack almost wants to stop her, because, woah. She didn’t know that there was a deputy director. Why it it ‘former’? Why is a S.H.I.E.L.D. member helping them? Isn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. Hydra? Isn’t that why McScouty was hunting her? But Ashley ignores her hesitation, and continues. “So, Geoff, is sending us a new car. This one is a six seater, so no one is going to be hanging off the side,” Gavin throughs Jack a grin, that she quickly returns. “We’ll be heading to Corpus Christi, after that.”

“Corpus Christi?” Lindsay scoffs. “Sounds fun.”

“Cap, do you still have the flash drive Burnie gave you?” Ashley asks. Gavin winces.

Surprisingly, she does. Somehow, in her back pocket, the tiny machine managed to remain unscatched. Apparently, Jack wasn’t the only thing that Ryan couldn’t kill. There is hope for him, yet.

She hands Ashley the stick, but the former agent just slips it into her pocket. “That’s good. We’ll need that later. For now, we just need to get to Corpus Christi.”

“Are you coming?” Meg asks, concern evident in her voice. “Shouldn’t you be- I dunno.” She trails off.

“I know what you’re trying to say, and he’s fine. A little out of it, but he’s fine.”

Who’s fine?

“Wait, what?” Gavin exclaims, more excitable than ever.

“Burnie’s fine.” Ashley says, softly, like she is trying to keep him from exploding. In the end, it isn’t Gavin, who freaks.

“He got shot in the heart! You can’t just walk that off!” Jack practically yells, drawing the attention of a few passing cars. A woman dressed as Captain America frantically waving her arms, under a bridge in the middle of a highway, can do that to someone. She doesn’t really care.

So far, two people have died, two people have come back to life, Jack has blood and brains on her suit, and the day is nowhere near over. None of this makes much sense, and Jack is almost ready to implode, because of it.

“He didn’t. He died,” Her voice breaks, for a second, before she gets it back under control. “But S.H.I.E.L.D. has a couple ways to cheat death.”

Apparently, Ryan started a trend. Jack almost laughs, bitterly, at the idea.

“Pubert.” Lindsay practically whispers, her eyes widening in surprise. Gavin, too, looks absolutely shocked by the realization, though Jack has no idea what it could mean. Who’s Pubert?

“So, that guy isn’t dead?” Caleb asks, just as confused as Jack feels.

“No. He doesn’t remember it- dying- but he’s fine. A few extra scars, but he’s perfectly fine,” She shakes her head, suddenly, like she is shaking the very thoughts away. “Can we talk about something else, right now?”

Lindsay jumps to her defense, directing the conversation away from Burns. “So, Jack, what’s your plan?”

“My what?”

“Your plan,” She repeats, unhelpfully. “You want to get Haywood back, right? What’s your plan? Are you coming with us, or going on your own?”

And, honestly, Jack hasn’t even thought about it. She knows that she needs to help him. She knows that  _ something _  had to have happened. She knows that Ryan needs all the help he could get, but she doesn’t know how to get it. Where is he? What happened to him? What can she do for him? How can she stop Hydra from hurting him more than they already have?

If they were willing to shoot him off of a train, Jack doesn’t even want to think about what they could do to him, now. She needs to find him, fast, because she will not lose him, again. 

“Haywood?” Meg asks, glancing at Gavin in confusion. The archer shrugs, just as confused as she is.

And that question is jarring, too. It feels like the whole world should know, already. Ryan Haywood is back. Ryan Haywood is in danger. Ryan Haywood is a murderer, and it is Jack’s fucking fault.

They should know, and it hurts that they don’t.

“Jack knew the Vagabond,” Lindsay explains, her eyes locked on Jack, as if testing what she can say. “Her old teammate, Ryan Haywood.”

Hearing it, aloud, just makes it worse. Because that’s not him, is it? The Vagabond is not Ryan. Ryan could never be like that. He hadn’t even wanted to fight in the war, in the first place, let alone do what the Vagabond has done. He isn’t a killer. He isn’t a fighter. He isn’t a Vagabond. He is just plain old innocent Ryan, who would never hurt Jack, even if it meant saving the world.

Ryan spent years saving her from fights. The Vagabond started one. That alone should be proof that something is very,  _ very _ wrong with him.

Even if it is him- a fact that she knows, without a doubt- it isn’t  _ him _ . It’s a bastardized, broken Ryan, and Jack needs to piece him back together, again. Ryan, as a whole, was not a killer. He has to be fractured. He has to be changed.

“Haywood? That dead guy?” Gavin asks, never one for subtlety.

He’s more than that, isn’t he?

“He’s not dead,” Jack practically barks. She glares at Gavin, viciously, suddenly furious with the disgruntled archer. He doesn’t even know Ryan? How dare he talk about him, like he’s just another casualty! “Apparently, he’s alive enough to scare you away from the fight!”

“Hey,” Meg interrupts, stepping between the furious soldier and the confused spy. She quickly addressed Jack, alone. “We’re all friends, here.”

“Well, most of us.” Lindsay agrees, with a slight grin.

“What’s the plan?” Jack asks, uninterested in their jokes. Ryan is in danger, and they’re just smiling and laughing. It’s not right.

“We’re going to visit an old S.H.I.E.L.D. base to meet up with an old friend of yours,” Ashley declares, nodding at Jack. “Well, friend in the loosest term possible. When we’re finished up, there, we’ll have to take a visit to Burnie. He might have a plan for all this.”

Jack wants to ask about Ryan, needs to know what their plan is for him, but she has a feeling that if she even mentions drawing the Vagabond to them, they won’t be very pleased with her plan. She agrees with their idea, anyway, aware that she would never find Ryan, on her own. 

She needs them, needs this woman who seems to listen to every single drunken mutter of Burns’, and who probably considers it all to be gospel. Needs these two archers, who abandoned her to the fight, so readily, but joined, in the end. Needs a spy, who knows more about them than they do. Needs Burns, with his lies and murderous projects. Needs Caleb, and she is the only one that Jack doesn’t doubt.

Any other day, Jack would have been fine with this team- would have been ecstatic, really. She would have laughed along with Lindsay’s jokes, accepted Meg with open arms, paid attention to this Ashley, and made light hearted jokes about Gavin’s life choices.

Today, Jack agrees to the plan, with more reluctance than she ever has.

\---

When the car arrives, Jack takes the backseat with Gavin. She has never spent so much time willingly scrunched against a car door in her life.

\---

Corpus Christi sucks.

For all her time spent in the 21st century, Jack is used to flying robotic suits, extraordinary buildings, and technology that surpasses what even science fiction could have imagined. She has seen odd things, like amnesiac old friends with robotic arms, or scientifically manufactured purple rage monsters, or a god with a hatred for all things indie.

But driving into Corpus Christi is like driving back into the ‘40s. Even then, there might be a few details missing. The fact that there are so few cars, being one.

Why would S.H.I.E.L.D. have a base here, of all places?

Ryan had visited Corpus Christi, once. A week long business trip, he’d promised. His boss needed him to keep an eye on a store, for a little while, promising that he’d be back home by that next saturday.

A month later, Ryan returned, and kissed the Austin dirt. The picture of pure relief.

Jack misses that Ryan, right now. At least, he could have made something entertaining out of this city.

“You know, they say the journey is more important than the destination,” Lindsay observes, eyeing the city around them. “I’m pretty sure both suck, equally.”

“Why are we here, anyway?” Gavin asks, already bored of it. “I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything here, but crap. It’s an absolute shitter.”

“There’s some-” Ashley hesitates, for a second. “ _ thing _ we need to see.”

“That’s nice. Can we see it somewhere else?” Lindsay suggests, immediately backing down as Ashley’s glare.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Caleb tries, ever the peacekeeper.

“No, it is,” She admits, without hesitation. “It’s a pretty awful city, but we have to deal with it.”

“Why? This place feels like a trip back to the 20’s. I’m pretty sure cars don’t even work here.” Meg mutters, not nearly as relaxed as Caleb. She keeps glancing out the window, like there could actually be something interesting in the droll town. She hopes in vain.

“There were working cars in the 20’s. Not nearly as much as now, but there were some.” Jack says. She nearly laughs, when Meg crosses her arms, annoyed by the correction.

“What would you know? You were two.” She snarks, struggling to hide a grin. She doesn’t do it, very well.

“I was ten!”

“That’s like five, in superhero years, right?” Gavin retorts, quickly coming to his partner’s defence.

For a second, Jack has to pause, just to consider the meaning of that statement. Or, rather, the lack of a meaning of that statement.

“What?” She asks, eventually. Her head is tilted, mouth hanging, half open, and eyes narrowed in confusion. Most of the others had a similar expression.

“You know, you’re like 90, but you’re also 30. So you get double years, right?” Gavin explains, as crudely as ever. No one bothers to question him- too used to his antics, by now. Even Caleb, who is practically the picture of confusion, just shakes her head and continues to stare out the window. Gavin is Gavin. Questions aren’t going to make that any easier.

Gunerz was like that, Jack remembers. He was just as horrid with his words, never getting his meaning across, quite like the rest of the team could. Too vague, too odd, and with a too heavy accent. Too young for this, but handles it without remorse. Too excited about a war that he really shouldn’t be a part of. Guns and bows don’t do much against superheroes, in their experiences.

It isn’t a comparison that Jack really wants to make, but it is there. That much is undeniable.

Would Ryan like Gavin? He had liked Gunerz enough. Would that translate to Gavin, too?

What would he think about Gavin? Would he be appalled that Gavin is so afraid? He was a good man- never one to hurt others for the thrill of it. He wasn’t a Lester, a Flynt Coal, or a Kdin. He was a Ryan, and Ryan was good. He would be confused, no doubt. Who could ever think of him as a cold blooded, highly skilled, mass murderer?

But, then again, is he? 

Is he cold blooded? He killed Burns, without even flinching. He’d attacked Jack, without hesitation. He took down Caleb, and never even waited before launching back onto Jack. He’d thrown a grenade at their feet, without even a cursory glance.

Is he highly skilled? The fight, alone, had proven that. Not many people could take down Captain America, with an injured arm. Not many people could get out of a fight with Lindsay, and survive. Not many people could earn Gavin’s fear.

But is he a mass murderer?

The others have been rambling on about nothing, but Jack pays their conversation no mind. It’s small talk, just trying to keep the words flowing. A distraction, at best, and a bore, at worst. She doesn’t think they mind, too much, when she cuts into their chat.

“How many people has Ryan killed?” It’s almost a whisper, but even that is enough to bring their light-hearted conversation to a halt.

Gavin doesn’t answer, despite the question being aimed at him. His shoulders slumps, like even considering a response is too much work. He glances out the window, and lets a weary sigh escape his lips.

Even Lindsay looks too confused to answer. Either she doesn’t know, or she didn’t understand the question, because it doesn’t look like Jack will be getting an answer anytime soon.

So, with those two options eliminated, and Meg and Caleb barely even knowing Ryan’s new name, unsurprisingly, Ashley is the one to respond.

“The last time I checked, he had around 200 confirmed kills. We haven’t been able to trace him very well, but that’s what we’ve gotten. He’s been around the block a few times.” Ashley admits, barely hesitating at Jack’s ensuing scowl.

“He’s a menace is what he is,” The scowl turns to Gavin, then, but the archer pays it no heed. “Takes down anyone for a bit of coin. Probably’d shoot his own mother for a dime.”

Jack is angry- has been that way for a while. It is a hard anger to notice, since it is hidden beneath so many layers of relief, but it is there. It is there, and it is raging.

And Gavin piqued that anger.

"I'm sorry, do you know him?" She asks. The pure ferocity in her tone surprises the others. It’s a side that they haven’t seen much, between easy battles and smooth conversations. This isn’t that. "Because, I think if you don't know him, you should shut your fucking mouth."

“Jesus, calm down, Mrs. Sausage in the Arse.” Gavin responded. Meg’s arm is pulling him away, immediately.

“Stop fighting!” Caleb yells, thrusting out with both arms. One catches Gavin by the collar, forcing him back, while the other just comes to a stop on Jack’s chest.  “We’re supposed to be a team, right? I think the first rule of teamwork is not killing each other.”

“I like that rule.” Lindsay comments. It is an attempt to raise the mood, but it doesn’t work.

Gavin grunts, a low and animalistic noise. He slumps his head against the window, golden glasses scraping against the glass. Jack takes one look at his defeated posture, and rests her head against her own seat.

The rest of the drive is long and silent.

\---

Minutes pass by like hours, before they come to rest in the middle of nowhere.

The building is as boring as the rest of this city-town. Old, abandoned, unwanted. Rusting walls, covered in vines and flies. An interesting sight, if they weren’t about to plunge headfirst into it. Maybe, if it was a picture, it would look more exciting. Instead, it just smells like rot and mold.

Ashley is the first out of the car, head held high, despite the disgusting air weighing her down. She reaches into her front pocket, and when she pulls her hand out, the flash drive is in her palm.

“Who’s coming with? I don’t think that ground will hold more than three people. It hasn’t been,” She hesitates. “Well maintained.”

Jack has her door open, before she could say another word. Lindsay is the next, right behind Jack.

Caleb is asleep, Gavin is brooding, and Meg takes one look at the roach crawling by Jack’s foot, and locks the car door. On any other day, Jack would have laughed. She doesn’t.

There wasn’t really any doubt that it would be the three of them taking this mission. Lindsay, for some reason, has been involved in this from the start. She was the one with the flash drive. She was the one talking to Burns. She was the at the Tower, when Ryan took that first shot. For some reason, she is involved, and it is going to stay that way.

Ashley, on the other hand, is different. She came from nowhere, claiming some title that Jack hadn’t even heard of. She was just the Hydra agent, who wasn’t. The woman who drove them to this useless shack in the middle of Boring Sub-Suburbia. For some reason, she is involved, and Jack wants to know why.

And Jack? Well, was there ever any doubt?

The ground is muddy, despite the lack of rain. Jack wouldn’t put it past a citizen to have caused that. Her nose crinkles in a brief show of disgust. Lindsay notices.

“Huh, here I thought you’d love the backcountry.” She’s grinning, a show of peace. She is just trying to defuse this unending somberness.

“That was more Dooley than me. I can’t really start a fire.” It’s not too funny, but it’s a start. Hell, maybe Meg will be trying with Gavin, too. If he apologizes, Jack actually might not kill him.

“Do we need a fire? There’s a building like ten feet away.” Ashley responds, already walking to said building. She has a hand on her S.H.I.E.L.D. ID card, within a second.

“What’s that for?” Lindsay asks, eyeing the card. Her eyes are narrowed, and her feet carry her closer to the other woman.

“Medieval scanners. They don’t do eye scans.” The deputy director answers. For a second, Lindsay just nods. The next, she has the card in her hands, and is tearing it to pieces.

“Hey!” Ashley exclaims. “That was my ID! That cost like 20 bucks!”

“Really?” Lindsay asks, disinterested. “It only cost me 15.”

“What was that for?”

“Those ‘medieval scanners’ aren’t so bad. If you used one of those, Hydra would find us within a second,” The spy explains, tearing the ID into 32 neat little pieces. “So, unless you want to be a nice juicy whatever-the-hell-hydra’s-eat, I suggest you don’t broadcast that we’re here.”

“So, what do we do?” Jack, this time.

“You’re the super soldier. Just break down the door.” Lindsay punches her own hand, as a very unneeded demonstration.

“I dunno. It looks pretty solid.”

“It’s got 40 years of water damage. I think you’ll manage.”

She does, bitterly. The door cracks under the force of one punch, and Jack will have splinters for weeks, but she manages. The only reward that she gets is Lindsay patting her on the back, while she picks the wood out of her arm.

“There. Was that so hard?” Lindsay says. It is easy for her to say, when she is not the one picking wood chips out of her skin.

“Settle down, kids. We actually do have some work to do.”

“Yeah, and what’s that? You still haven’t told us anything.” Lindsay snarks, eyes rolling.

“It’s, uh,” The director frowns. “Huh, I don’t really know how to explain it. Just- you’ll see it in a second?”

It isn't very encouraging, but it is enough to keep them moving. Lindsay rolls her eyes, and keeps peppering Ashley with questions, but she does not so much as blink at her. And as much as Lindsay complains, it only serves as a deterrent to the eerie atmosphere of the building, so Jack doesn’t mind.

The floor creaks in places. The walls are covered in mold and moss. The windows are blackened with dust. The ground is caked with dirt and wet, where rainwater has seeped in, through broken windows. The smell- of old and rotting flesh- is probably the worst of it. If they look, they will probably find dozens of dead animals. They do not look.

For a second, Jack wants to tell the others to head back to the car. She is the enhanced one, here. She is the one, who can breath in smoke. With the others being normal- being human- she doesn’t really want them, here. There is enough mold to poison any non-mutant, and Jack doesn’t want them to suffer. 

Ashley keeps walking, and Jack doesn’t say a word.

They come to a stop in a corner, where one dreary wall meets another. The ceiling is practically bending, due to the constant pressure on the roof. Too much storage in an old two story building.

There is a vent, smaller than Jack’s fist, that rests behind an old and moldy box. When Ashley kicks it away, a cloud of smoke erupts into the air. Lindsay coughs- chokes- but it isn’t long, before she has her breathing under control. She may not be enhanced, but she is far from normal. She can handle a little dust.

The metal grating is easily removed, and all three of them know what they have to do next. Lindsay is the first to go, somehow managing to fit in a metal grate that was only about a foot in width. She moves without complaint, squeezing through, like she has done this a million times before. She probably has.

Ashley is next- not even glancing at Jack as she forces her way into the entrance. She does not have nearly the same grace as Lindsay. Occasional grunts escape her throat, as she forces herself through a hole that would not even fit a child. Somehow, though, she squeezes through, and it is Jack’s turn.

And Jack? Well, Jack is bigger than the both of them. This expedition was never going to end well.

\---

It didn't end well.

Jack spends over ten minutes, trapped in the vent, before Ashley manages to free the pinned soldier. It isn't a fun ten minutes. When she finally escapes, her shoulders are blaring red and one of her toes is bent out of shape. It heals, within a few minutes, but still. Jack will never look at holes the same way.

“Alright, so next time can I take pictures?” Lindsay asks, grinning widely. She had been laughing, throughout the event- never even bothering to help. Of course, she would be the one to mock it.

“Eh, sure.” Ashley agrees, despite Jack’s rapidly shaking head.

It takes all of her self control to hold back any malicious comments, but Jack has enough of a distraction to keep her cool. The room, after all, is tremendous.

Less rotten than the other room (thankfully), it is a sight to behold. Computers practically decorate the room- shoved into every crevice and every wall. They are old- old enough that Jack can recognize a few of the models. Supercomputers. 1950s supercomputers.

“Where are we?” She asks, taking a few steps forward. She wipes some of the dust off of a screen, and reveals the cracked and faded glass. It probably hasn’t been cleaned since it was placed here.

“S.W.O.R.D. lab. Sorola used to run the place,” Ashley answers, following Jack further into the room. Lindsay trails behind, like an excited puppy. “Not many know about it, but it's one of Sorola’s last projects. Burnie was looking into it, before shit started going down.”

“What is it?” Lindsay asks, ever keen to retrieve information. Her eyes are scanning the room- searching for threats and opportunities. A spy's mind, indeed.

“We don't know. Hullum wiped it clean, when Sorola went down. We wouldn't have known about it, if you hadn’t come back.” She looks at Jack, and the soldier cocks her head.

“Me?” She asks. What did she have to do with it?

“Your reappearance made us curious. You were dead, Cap. Martyred and missed. We were wondering what else could come back.”

“Ryan did.” Jack responds, before she could continue. She feels like she needs to remind them- they can't forget! Ryan was gone, and now he's back. They can't overlook that. 

“We don't know that, yet. It's a theory.”

“Ryan is back.” Jack responds, sternly.

“Yeah, sure. Ryan’s back,” she sends a nervous look towards the patriot, but makes no other mention of it. Jack appreciates that. “And we wanted to know who else could be. We found that they buried a few files- tried to purge them- but it wasn't great coding. They still had a long way to go from our tech. We brought it back and here we are.”

“So, you have no idea what it is, but you came anyway?” Lindsay snarks, doubt clear in her voice.

“We know it relates to Hydra, but that's about it.”

“Alright,” Lindsay responds, more energetic. “Sounds alright. What do we have to do?”

“Keep an eye out for anything. There might be boobytraps or something.”

“Boobytraps?”

“You never know. It could happen.”

“This is S.H.I.E.L.D., not Egypt. I'm pretty sure there's just some coding issues.” Lindsay says, looking as confused as Jack feels. 

But there was already a trap, wasn't there? That vent managed to capture Jack, fairly easily. Maybe there are more.

“It's S.W.O.R.D.. We don't know what they're capable of. They're too damn secretive.” Ashley sounds bitter, and Lindsay just laughs.

“Yeah, that's probably because they're a secret agency.”

Ashley gives no response, and just stalks over to the other end of the room, where an abnormally large screen rests on the floor. It looks over the room- dwarfing the other computers by several feet. It runs from ground to ceiling, and must have been Sorola’s favorite invention.

Now, spiderwebs streak alongside the computer, pinning the edges against the wall. Dust, thick enough that Lindsay coughs, when she wipes it away, draped across the glass. Cracks, like roots, race along the screen, probably rendering the imaging useless. It is old, broken, and frankly disgusting.

And as much as Jack is interested by the machine, she wants to know how this will lead them to Ryan. If it doesn’t then what was the point of coming, here, anyway?

There is a small slit, resting at the foot of the computer, and Ashley wastes no time in getting to it. Within a moment, the flash drive is inserted and flashing red. There is a smirk plastered onto her face, but it looks too forced to be real. She is just as curious as they are, and as much as she wants to seem in control, there is very little information that survived the collapse of S.W.O.R.D.. Ashley knows nothing more than any of them do.

The large screen flickers, letting out a large metallic groan, as the system begins to boot, after who-knows-how-many decades. Various sparks erupt from torn wiring, but the computer still manages to begin the startup procedure. One by one, old and dying pixels flicker on. There are various colors- some lights stained and others moldy- but most of them are still able to illuminate. Still, the few that do not are able to detriment the image that is slowly beginning to develop.

There is a face- that much is noticeable, beneath the black and grey lights that barely seem to work, anymore. Every few moments, a light sparks before dying, like the last moments of a star. It would be depressing, if any of them gave a shit about S.W.O.R.D. property.

Jack did, a little, but she would never dare to mention that. She has only spent two years in this century, but their disdain for their precedents were enough to prevent her from feeling any sorrow for her former employers. She was never the agent that Caiti was. Jack could turn away from S.W.O.R.D.. At least, that is what she tells herself, when Geoff rambles on about Sorola and Hullum’s misdeeds.

Because as much as Jack hated what Sorola was planning, it still troubles her to think about him as a monster. Not when he helped her save Ryan, the first time. She can disapprove of him, but she could never hate him like Geoff does. It does not settle right with her.

But what good did saving Ryan do, when he was just given back to Hydra, without a fight?

Jack has to shake her head to clear her mind of the pressing calamities. There is a dull aching in her forehead, and it isn’t because of the blinking lights.

“Hello?” The word, delivered by an array of surrounding speakers, rips through the room. Lindsay tenses, eyeing the computer with cautious curiosity. Ashley’s smirk grows more genuine.

And Jack? Jack recognizes that voice. She recognizes a man, without a face, and the man who had stood beside him, never uttering a word. She recognizes military videos, where science paired with warfare. She recognizes an empty train car, slowly being filled with screams. From the few times she had ever heard his voice, she recognizes Lester.

“What?” Is all she can say. She is taken aback- dumbfounded- horrified. If Lester survived, who else could have? Coal? Hullum? Sorola? She doesn’t even want to think about that. 

But Ryan lived, and they twisted him into something horrible. Could they have twisted Lester, even more? She doesn’t really want to think about that, either.

“Calm down, Cap,” Ashley remarks, without looking away from the screen. “It’s just a recording.”

“A recording, Ms. Jenkins?” The distinct German voice responds. Jack can hear the smile in his words. “You underestimate me. Here I would have thought the Captain would have taught you better, hm? I must have assumed wrong.”

“What do you know about Ryan?” Jack snaps, cutting to the chase. She isn’t here for gloating- isn’t here for past regrets. She can ask questions, later. Right now, she is on a mission. She has a duty to her friend. She intends to fulfil it.

The shadowed, staticky face blinks. “What?”

“Ryan. Ryan Haywood. What do you know about him? What did you do to him?”

“Who are you talking about? I do not understand your question.”

“Ryan Haywood! The one you experimented on? 1945?” She snaps, fury evident in her tone.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.” Even through static, Jack can hear his sarcasm.

“The one that almost died, because of you?”

“Again, Captain.”

“On the train! He fell off the train, and your people found him!”

“Wait. The Vagabond? Yes, he was a good subject. He is still around, yes? He was good. Worked very well,” The robotic voice chuckles, as if sensing the anger that is practically radiating from Jack’s body. Ryan is not a subject. Ryan is a person- Ryan is a friend- Ryan is a- “And what about him? You want him? Sorry, but I don’t think his new owner would appreciate me conquering the market, again.”

“I’m sorry, who are you, again?” Lindsay cuts in, trying to steer the conversation away, before Jack smashes the computer. They came for a reason, after all, and it doesn’t relate to a mercenary.

She stops it just in time, because the word “owner” nearly drives Jack over the edge.

“Ah, that I can answer. My name was Lester Crest. How are you, Lindsay Tuggey?” He speaks politely, but by inciting her personal name, it is anything but. People don’t know Lindsay’s full name. It isn’t even in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files. She has been careful with it- has gone by Jones for over a decade. To hear “Tuggey”, again, is more than just jarring. It is a clear threat, and in any other circumstance, she would not tolerate that.

But Lindsay is on a mission, and needs to show self control. That is the worst part of the job.

“What do you know about Lester’s algorithm?” She asks, forcing herself to remain cool and collected. She doesn’t like this computer, already.

“Really? These are your questions? Not ‘How are you alive, Mr. Crest?’ No, it is ‘Vagabond this’ and ‘Algorithm this’. I am a dead man, alive! How do none of you care?”

“We’re used to it,” Ashley snarks, glancing at Jack. “And you should probably give us an answer, before we unplug you.”

There is an audible grunt from the mechanized man, but no pause. His distorted mouth continued its endless rant, without much issue.

“You are all mad,” the scientist announced, before continuing. “But I can appreciate mad. What do you plan to use this algorithm for? Denouncing my works? Eliminating my companions?” One of his eyes- the only one that could be seen, through the dying pixels- focused on Jack. “Finding your lost little friend?”

“Just tell us, before we shut you down.”

“It would be pointless,” Lester continued, like she had not even spoken. “My men are definite. You could never defeat Hydra. Cut off one head-”

“If we can’t beat them, why not tell us? Scared?” Lindsay interrupts, taking a step towards the reanimated man.

And yeah, Jack was still having trouble understanding that ‘reanimated man’ thing, but whatever. That is an issue for future Jack to deal with.

“I am not scared of any American-”

“So, why not share it?” Ashley says, playing to Lindsay’s ploy. Jack catches on as well, and decides to join in on their scheme. Manipulation works, sometimes. They might as well try it.

“He’s scared, we’re going to figure it out.” Jack adds, hiding a smirk, when Lester responds.

“My algorithm is too complicated for a soldier to learn from. You think too highly of yourself.”

“Prove it.” Is all Lindsay says, before the flash drive begins to blink, even faster than before, until it is practically a solid beam of red. The information is downloading onto the stick. Lester fell for their ploy.

For a moment, there is a resounding feeling of elation. They have the code. Jack has no idea what that code is for- there isn’t even any hint that Ashley knows, either, but they have it. If they had it, they could do something with it. That something is much better than the nothing they had before, and Jack can appreciate that.

So for a brief moment, they are relieved, and ready to shut Lester down for the last time.

Ashley’s phone vibrates, and all of that relief is meaningless.

“Uh, you might want to get that fast, Widow. We’ve got a bogey.” Ashley announces, scowling down at her phone.

“Yes, did I forget to mention that?” Lester laughs. “I do apologize. Good luck with that algorithm, when you are dead.”

“Who fired it?” Jack asks, ignoring the taunting voice that has already slipped into the background.

“I don’t know, but we have 30 seconds tops.” Ashley is looking up from her phone, now frantically gazing around the room for some sort of escape root. There is none to be found.

Lindsay rips the flashdrive out of its slot, hoping to disable the computer. Maybe the missile would deactivate, if she shut down the condescending scientist. It doesn’t work, the missile keeps moving, and Lester continues to taunt them. 

“It’s better this way, isn’t it? You die. I die. It is quite nice, don’t you say, Captain?”

The others were still outside- could probably see the missile, already. Hopefully they are already driving away, before it can land. Jack desperately hopes for their safety, because if they can’t get out, at least they can.

And chances for escape aren’t looking too good, right now.

Lindsay is running along the walls and looking for secret exits that Sorola would never design. Ashley is scanning the computers, like one of them has a key that could save their lives. A key that could not, and never will, exist.

Grasping at straws, Jack glances at the ground, desperate for an escape. There has to be a way out! They cannot have come all this way to die on the first lap! Jack wants to die on the second lap, at least!

And eventually, she notices the panels, dotting the floor. Eagerly, she grabs hold of the metal fixtures pinning the floor boards down, and  _ pulls _ . She pulls with all the might that a supersoldier can have inside. She pulls, until the metal panels come free of the ground, revealing the mesh of wiring that is interconnected and tangled into one incoherent jungle of copper.

“15 seconds!” Ashley announces, as her phone vibrates, again. It’s essentially a death counter and Jack wishes that she would just  _ turn it off _ !

“For the record, Captain, there was no way you could have stopped us. You only cut off one head, when you needed to cut into the heart. You failed.” Lester continues, pride evident in his tone. Jack would punch him in his glass face, if she didn’t have more important things to do.

“Over here!” Jack announces, at the top of her lungs. Her two companions are by her side, in an instant, leaping into the hole, without any hesitation. Jack steps in, after, hauling the metal panel over her head and locking it back into place.

Lester doesn’t have time to speak, again, before the world erupts into pain and darkness.

\---

Jack is floating. She is lying on a cloud that is so soft and comfortable and nice and she never wants to land, again. Jack likes floating. Floating is good. Floating is much nicer than falling and she falls way too much. 

Maybe she can just float here, forever. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? She could float away from the stinging agony in her left arm. She could soar into the air, where Ryan is waiting for her, and Gunerz is, too. Dooley and Bragg and Shadles and all the others that she’d known in that other life.

What was she even thinking? She’d been like this, forever. She was trapped in ice for god's sake! No one could have saved her from that. She’s been dreaming up this whole thing.

Ryan could never have been a mercenary. He’s too soft- too innocent- too nice. He killed, because he had to. He wouldn’t just kill to get paid. He isn’t some Hydra criminal. He’s just an innocent guy, who ended up in a war that he never wanted to fight. Ryan is not the Vagabond and the Vagabond never existed.

And there he is standing above Jack, reaching down and calling out for her to grab his hand. His blond hair shorter than ever before and maybe a little brighter, but Heaven probably does that. Everything is holier than it is. 

“Come on, Cap!” Someone yells, piercing through her blurred vision. And wait. That isn’t his voice. That’s not Ryan. Unless Ryan somehow managed to turn into an Englishman- that is not Ryan. “You little fried piece of bacon! Get up!”

A hand prods into her left arm and suddenly she isn’t floating, anymore.

She is lying on a bed of wiring that is torn and frayed beyond belief. It clings to her clothes, digging through and holding onto her, like she has been caught in a bed of roses. The thorns are holding her down and she can’t get up and she’s confused and scared and what’s-going-on?

“Cap, get up!” The voice- Gavin, Jack recognizes- yells. His voice sounds slurred, but that might just be the buzzing in her ears.

“What happened?” She asks, dazed. Despite her words, it already seems to be coming back to her. Ryan (alive and well), Lester (and Jack doesn’t want to know how that robot thing worked), the bogey (and who sent that, anyway).

“You’re crushing Lindsay and Ashley is what!” Gavin explains, grabbing hold of Jack’s shield and using it to force her onto her feet. He is stronger than he looks, because he manages to completely right Jack, without breaking a sweat. As a non-supersoldier lifting a supersoldier- it is quite the impressive act. As a Gavin lifting anything, it is extraordinary.

Jack stumbles, slightly. She is still too dazed to fully understand the situation. Her arm hurt- still does, but why? She doesn’t think there is anything wrong. There shouldn’t be, anyway. The metal panel should have been protecting them, right?

She turns her head, slightly, and notices the area where redness has begun to seep into the blue of her uniform. It is a fairly encompassing space that the sticky liquid covers, but she does not bother to worry too much. Whatever it is doesn’t matter. She heals faster than the average person, anyway. As long as she doesn’t collapse, she’ll be fine.

“You alright?” Someone asks. Their voice is loud, feminine, and high pitched, but Jack has trouble placing it. Everything feels foggy at the moment. It’s a feeling that should fade in a second. If Jack could survive 70 years in ice, after submerging a nuclear warhead, she could survive a missile.

“Yeah.” Jack answers, glancing down at the woman next to her. Meg gives her an encouraging smile, and begins to direct her away from the hole she had just been forced out of.

Ashley and Lindsay are already out- both completely unharmed. Maybe they are a little dustier- a little more shaken- but they are alive and uninjured. That the most that Jack could ask for.

The room around them does not seem to have fared quite as well. The walls have all collapsed- revealing the tunnel that they had entered through. The computers are demolished. Nothing remains but the rubble of broken machinery and crumbled walls. Not a single screen remains intact, but Jack knows that she will have to come back here. If only to ask questions, and to ensure that the German scientist is dead. Truly and thoroughly dead.

The ground that she stands on bends beneath her feet, where the tiles are cracked and shattered. She moves to the right, but it still creaks under her weight. It isn’t going to last much longer, but it doesn’t matter. Lester is gone and they have the algorithm. So far, the plan is going smoothly. No one is dead and very few injuries.

Missions usually do not run this easily. Even if there was a bogey.

“We should get out of here, before they launch another hit.” Ashley advises, and the others are quick to follow. Caleb is there, helping Jack to stumble through the wreckage. She is already feeling marginally better, as her blood replenishes unnaturally fast, but she appreciates the help. The world is still too dizzying for her at the moment.

“So, what’s our next move? Can I be the one to get hit, next time?” Meg asks, with faux-excitement.

“I dunno. Depends on what we decide to do with this one.” Ashley answers, pulling out her uncracked phone. Somehow, even without a case, it managed to survive a missile strike.

“Jesus, is that thing that, uh, vibrator thing?” She asks, with a great amount of eloquence.  The others stare at her, with mirroring expressions of confusion. Luckily, Gavin seems to understand the question perfectly.

“Nah. Ashley’s just a right clean nut. She’d die to keep that thing spick.”

There is a few seconds of silence, before Caleb clears her throat and asks, “What’s a ‘spick’?”

“You know! Spick and span! Nice and neat, yeah? It’s good!”

There might have been a volley of questions, after that, but Ashley lets out a pleased cheer, as she is able to locate her files, without any disruptions. It has been a long day, and even one piece of good news is enough to get her giddy.

“This is our guy,” She says, waving her phone to show them the picture. “We can do with him whatever we want, but we need some information he has.”

Meg and Gavin share a look and the matter is settled.

\---

After a brief shooting session, Felix McScouty is missing a few strands of hair, is covered in bits of apple, and is pinned to the wall by the crotch of his jeans. He gives up the information quite fast, after that.

Lester’s algorithm can locate any ‘threat’ to Hydra- Geoff Ramsey, Jack Pattillo, Lindsay Tuggey, the list goes on and on. And with that, they can annihilate them.

After a shot that grazes Felix’s ear, they also learn the exact details of the plan. It is quite nice, when the enemy is cooperative.

\---

The plan is set, before they are anywhere near the building. Caleb’s wingsuit- stolen from S.H.I.E.L.D., when he was still a paratrooper- has been repaired. Jack’s uniform- stolen from the “National Captain America  ~~Memorial~~ Museum”- replaces the torn and bloodstained version. Gavin and Meg have replenished their stock of arrows, and even added a few trick shots to their quivers. Everyone is prepared for exactly what they have to do.

Caleb is with Jack, ready to hoist her up to the first helicarrier when they’re done inside. Gavin and Meg are waiting outside. Their retracting arrows are already knocked, and ready to carry them into the sky. Lindsay is playing her part with Ashley, and everything is going well.

It is still smooth sailings, when Jack recruits half of S.H.I.E.L.D. to their cause. It is still smooth sailings, when Caleb drags Jack onto the first helicarrier. It is still smooth sailings, when Gavin and Meg announce that they are on theirs, and Caleb is on her own. All is going well.

And then it doesn’t.

Lindsay’s comms go dead, just as Caleb starts muttering into her own. It’s quiet, annoyed, and almost unnoticeable, but it makes the three remaining fighters pause.

“I’ve got my chip in, but I’m grounded. I couldn’t see who got me.”

“It’s fine. We can handle ours.” Meg responds, though the sound of gunfire coming through her mic is unconvincing.

It doesn’t matter. If Caleb was able to insert that chip, it means that the ship won’t shoot civilians. It might kill a few Hydra agents on the helicarriers, but it is not much of a loss. If they are smart enough, they can evacuate.

There aren’t many enemy soldiers on this ship, anyway. It seems that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have taken out the majority of them, before Jack even got there. 

It is eerily quiet, as Jack approaches the mechanism in the center of the craft. Tall, skinny, and dense, but it might just be the most important device in the world. She stands in the middle of a gigantic dome- only accessible by a rail-less walkway with a 100 foot drop below. It feels imposing, like just standing in its presence spells death. Jack just wants to walk away from it, but she keeps moving. The faster she can get over this, the better.

“Jack, there’s someone headed towards your ship. They’re-” Caleb drones on, but Jack is too distracted by the sound of shattering glass. Before she can move, there is a weight pressing against her back, knocking her to the ground. She almost drops the chip from the shock of it, but manages to cling onto it.  Jack rolls, forcing the intruding figure away from her, and manages to stumble to her feet. A few shards of glass embedded themselves into her skin, but she pays them no mind. She needs to get this thing in, before it starts to fire on the innocents below them.

She turns, ready to face her new enemy. One of her hands is already reaching for her shield and the other is clenched into a fist. Whichever idiot decided to fight Captain America, single handed, deserves an ass-kicking. Unfortunately, it isn’t as untrained an enemy as she expected.

This time, Ryan didn’t bother to bring a mask. He just has the endless supply of guns strapped to his person and the metallic arm with three lone stripes decorating its surface. His face paint looks just as impeccable as before, and she almost wants to laugh at the image of him taking such care in designing it. It’s stupid- to laugh in the face of a mercenary- but it’s Ryan. If he wasn’t going to attempt to murder her, she would have laughed alr eady.

Instead, Jack unclenches her fist and stares into the eyes that used to be much brighter.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” She says, softly. “People are going to die, man. You don’t want that.”

His only response is the _SHINK_  of a knife leaving its sheathe.

He does not make any other move, but he leaves no room for any alternative to attacking. He stands in the way between Jack and the device that could kill millions of people. If he thinks that she will stand down, he is not thinking at all.

In one smooth motion, Jack removes the shield from her back and sends it flying towards Ryan. Before she even lets go, she is already running. Maybe while he’s distracted, she can slip past him. It doesn’t matter if she gets hurt, here. He will catch the shield. If she can make sure that he gets out uninjured, and the millions of people below are safe, then it doesn’t matter if she suffers for it. There are more important things at stake.

For a moment, it works. She slips past him and runs for the machine. She manages to punch in the first few numbers- 800- before the footsteps grow too loud and she has to turn to beat back her advancing foe.

Ryan has his knife in one hand and the shield latched onto his fleshy left arm. He lunges for Jack, deeming her utterly defenseless against the assault. Instead, she grabs hold of the arm grasping her shield and vaults over it. The arm twists and the mercenary lets out a low growl that slowly rises in both volume and intensity. The shield slips out of his grasp, but he slices with his knife and manages to graze Jack’s arm in the process.

She winces, already feeling the sharp pain, but ignores it. Injuries can be dealt with later. Ryan isn’t going to be letting her go unharmed. If she stops, he’ll kill her. She doesn’t doubt that- even if she hates it.

She ducks another blow from her crazed friend, and sweeps a leg under him. He simply steps over it and launches into another attack with his knife. She catches his arm, and he drops it, before she can grab it. He catches it with his fleshy hand in the same way that he had done in their last meeting. This time, before he can attack, she grabs the arm and sends a sharp kick to his side.

They both drop, unbalanced from Jack’s attack. Ryan is the first to move as he sends a rough punch with his stronger arm. It jabs into Jack’s chest and she has to pause to catch her breath for a second. It cannot last too long, because Ryan is already swinging into his next hit and Jack just manages to block it with her shield. 

She jabs forward with her weapon, catching Ryan in the chest and sending him reeling backwards. It gives her enough time to punch the last two numbers into the machine. She barely manages to type in 85, before Ryan is back on his feet. Jack hits ‘enter’ and allows the machine to unveil the plethora of computer chips that program its actions. While it works, she turns back to the mercenary.

He is leaning into a punch, aimed for her head, and Jack just manages to kick it out of the way. The move sets her off balance and Ryan uses that to the full advantage. He shoves her forward and sends her off of the platform.

Jack just barely manages to catch hold of the edge, but in the process she drops the chip. It lands over 100 feet below and miraculously doesn’t break. Jack is ready to drop down to grab it, but she doesn’t get the chance. Ryan is already stepping on her fingers, pressing down hard. She can feel them fracture- can feel two of them break- before she lets go.

She drops and is completely unable to control her fall. She hits the ground hard, without any time to prepare for impact. Her back crashes against the metal posts, luckily, leaving the glass unshattered. She can thank Ryan for that, at least. She would be dead if it had.

She cannot give herself any time to recover. Not when Ryan is already leaping down to her level. She stumbles to her feet and begins to walk to the chip. Ryan is running.

“And yes! We’ve got the second carrier!” Meg’s cheerful voice screeches into Jack’s ear. She had almost forgotten about the comms, and if she had even a moment to waste, she would have called for backup.

But then, who knows what backup would do. Would they let Ryan go? Would they accept that this isn’t him? Or would they kill him? Would it be Geoff or Ray or Michael? People who don’t know and probably don’t care? Or would it be Gavin or Meg? People who know, but might still try to hurt him? 

Jack can’t let that happen. She has to face him alone. For his sake.

Ryan already has the device in hand, when Jack reaches him. The mercenary tries to swing at her, but Jack grabs onto the hand that clings to the chip- the human one. Ryan tries to escape the hold, so she tightens it and angles herself so that his right arm cannot hit her. With one hand, she pushes on his head to keep him at bay, and with the other, she pulls back.

“Let go.” She orders, watching as he tries to squirm out of the hold. “Let go!”

He doesn’t. He reaches for the gun on his back, and Jack only hesitates for a second, before she tugs.

There is a crack, a scream, and a chip that drops onto her lap.

They drop to the ground, and Jack manages to force him into a chokehold. A few of his teeth find their way into her skin, but she takes it without flinching. He kicks back- punches- struggles- but he can’t manage to break free. It only takes a few moments before his muscles go lax and his eyes slip shut.

Gently, Jack releases her hold and sets him to lie back on the glass. Hopefully, he won’t wake up until this is over.

She sprints back to the mechanism and wastes no time in preparing. She climbs, like King Kong, if he wasn’t swatting at a thousand helicopters. Within a minute, she reaches the top platform. Two hands on the edge, with two fingers curled against her palm. She is halfway onto the ground, when she feels something shoot through her thigh.

She doesn’t have to think, before she realizes what that is. She doesn’t have to look down to see Ryan shooting at her. It doesn’t matter. There is just one thing left to do. After that, she can focus on her friend and the bullet imbedded in her leg. After that, it’ll matter.

Another bullet grazes her arm- the only thing that Ryan can still see, once she falls onto the deck. She rolls away as another shot rings above her.

She crawls to the machine and reaches for the offending chip. Without much fanfare, she replaces the chip.

“Launch it.” Jack mumbles into the earpiece.

“Aren’t you still on board?” Ashley asks. The worry is evident in her voice, but Jack ignores it. They need to take out these ships, before Hydra can recover them.

“I can get out,” She lies. “Just launch it.”

There isn’t another word spoken. Just the overwhelming noise of hundreds of gunners moving into position. Jack doesn’t even have to look at them to know where they are pointing.

She hears Ryan curse as the gunfire begins.

Some of the glass shatters and allows the shots to smash into the supports. There is an unnerving creak that resounds throughout the dome, before it collapses. As Jack watches, Ryan tries to roll out of the way, but ends up trapped by the mass of it. 

She can see him panic. She can watch as he punches the beam, like that will force it away. It doesn’t matter. His metal arm is stuck and so is the lower half of his body. If Jack walks away, he won’t be able to get out. He’ll go down with the ship.

She doesn’t have to think, before she jumps to the ground.

This time, she uses her shield to protect herself. It doesn’t do much, and she still collapses when she puts weight on her leg, but it keeps her from getting anymore injured. She drops it, then. She isn’t going to fight him, now. The Vagabond failed. Maybe Ryan will rise from his ashes.

As she approaches, he starts to struggle even more. She can see him wildly thrashing, desperately trying to escape before she can- can- do what exactly? Does he think that she’ll kill him?

Of course he does! She’s been trying to hurt him, since she first spotted his sniper rifle. She used him as a human shield. She broke his arm. She choked him until the lights went out. Of course he thinks she’ll kill him. She just needs to prove otherwise.

It takes more strength than she really has, but between her and Ryan, they manage to lift the beam. The mercenary stumbles away from it, forcing himself to step towards Jack, threateningly.

“Why are you helping me?” Ryan demands, coldly. As sweet as it is to hear his voice, again, the meaning of his words makes it bitter.

“You’re my friend,” She answers. His fists clench. “I’m not gonna fight you, Ryan.”

Ryan doesn’t respond. He takes a step forward, grabs Jack by the neck of her suit and pulls her forward. For a millisecond, she thinks it might be a hug. Then, her skull smashes against his and pain erupts. There is a sudden flash of white that overtakes Jack’s vision, and suddenly both of them are stumbling back.

“You’re my friend,” She repeats, as he grasps onto her shoulder to deliver another punch to her face. It knocks her to the ground. She tastes metal on her tongue.

“You’re my target.” The Vagabond responds, without any emotion. He may seem unaffected, but his eyes betray him. They’re softer and wilder. Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Like he thinks that Jack might be right, but refuses to accept that it’s true.

Another blow to the face.

"You-”

Another hit.

“Are-”

Smack.

“My-”

Thump.

“Target.”

Something breaks.

Ryan takes hold of her hair and uses it to drag her head up. He brings it back down, viciously, like he has some personal vendetta against her. She doesn’t even bother to stop him.

“Why aren’t-”

Punch.

“You fighting?”

A tooth cracks.

“Sorry I’m late, Ryan,” and she pauses for a second. His fist hovers in midair, eyes glazed over. “That’s your name. Ryan Haywood.”

There isn’t another word spoken, but the glass beneath her back cracks. It splinters into a thousand pieces and Jack is falling- falling- falling.

\---

Why does it always have to be falling?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this marks the official end of Part 1b. We're now moving into Part 2, which introduces a new POV. Keep in mind, up until now we've had a pretty good narrator. After this, though, it's going to be fairly unreliable, so don't take everything you see at face value. Hopefully I'll get it out sooner, too!


	8. Short Days Mean Long Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sooner. Definitely not sooner. I’m so sorry. Work started and killed my editing. But I finally got it out at 1:00 in the morning. Here you go!

Ryan Haywood was a war hero. Ryan Haywood fought alongside some of the most heroic men in American history. He was one of the two who gave their lives for the cause.

Ryan Haywood was a sniper. A brave man, with a heart of gold, who fought beside Captain America, because she was his friend. Haywood was the type of man, who would give everything he could to a military that he was drafted into.

Haywood has his face plastered all over the damn Smithsonian for fucksake. He was a good man, according to the thousand different museums that bear his picture.

Haywood was loyal. Haywood was brave. Haywood was determined. Haywood was a hero.

Haywood _was_.

What do they think of him?

The Vagabond is a mercenary. The Vagabond murdered some of the most heroic men in world history. He doesn’t care enough about anyone to give his life for anything.

The Vagabond is a jack of all trades. A cruel man, with a heart of stone, who fought alongside Hydra for a cause that he doesn’t even understand. The Vagabond is the type of man, who would give everything to a military that does nothing for him.

The Vagabond has his mask plastered onto every most-wanted list in the world. A truly cruel and inhumane being, according to the thousand different agencies that want him dead.

The Vagabond is loyal. The Vagabond is cruel. The Vagabond is ready. The Vagabond is a murderer.

The Vagabond _is_.

At least, that’s what he thinks he is.

He stares into this plaque and watches as his reflection merges with the face that stares back at him. Except the Vagabond is in color and Haywood is still black and white. The Vagabond is the real one, here! He knows it! This doesn’t make any sense.

Lester would have told him. Percival would have told him. Edgar would have told him. All the handlers- the masters- the _owners_ would have told him.

But he’s gone too long without a wipe. It’s obvious now, isn’t it?

He can remember things. Too many things, really. He can remember soft eyes that he beat bloody. He can remember words that he wants to rip out of his head. He can remember two names and he wants them gone. He needs them gone!

Haywood was. The Vagabond is. That’s how it’s supposed to go. Haywood died. Haywood fell off of a bridge and died. Even if they are one in the same, Haywood is gone.

The Vagabond is the man with the metal arm. The Vagabond is the monster, who took away everything that Haywood lived for. The Vagabond is the one who fought for Hydra, because they are all he knows. All he has ever known.

That’s who he is. Loyal to the people who took him in. Loyal to the people who say that he can change the world. He has- that’s what they tell him.

All he had to do was kill Jack Pattillo. Why couldn’t he? He could have changed the world.

“One more.” That’s what they said. One more. All he had to do was kill Captain America, and it’d all be over. One more.

But he didn’t. Captain America is still out there.

He should go back to Hydra. He is always supposed to go back to Hydra. He needs to report to Edgar. He needs to report and needs them to repair him. He is a tool and Captain America broke him. He needs to get better. He needs them to make him better.

So why isn’t he going? They will kill him if he disobeys them. All he is- that’s what Edgar says- All he is is Hydra. Lester used to say that he was one of the heads that grew, when the first one fell off. He can’t disappear, or two more will sprout in his place. He doesn’t want that. He wants to be the one. He wants to be alive. Hydra can’t just chop him off, because he failed them. He can’t let that happen.

And yet, he is here. Staring at a picture of a man who may-or-may-not be him.

And yet, when the Vagabond leaves the museum, he doesn’t go out to find Edgar. He sneaks into a hotel and rests there for the night.

He needs to think. Hydra can wait.

\---

“I need help. He’s still out there, Geoff. He can’t go back.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be found?”

“But what if he does?”

“Well, he wouldn’t have run, then, would he?”

“Geoff.”

“I’ll help you, but don’t expect he’ll be all gung ho about coming back.”

\---

They find him in the hotel and he sleeps on the street for a few weeks. It’s not the worst condition he’s ever slept in- far from it, actually. It’s more comfortable to have his arm on rock than cotton. It’s too heavy for a mattress. It’s one of the reasons that they kicked him out of the hotel so quickly. Apparently, after a few days, his weight can crush it.

They’d cursed at him and threatened to call the police. Here’s to say, they were unable to call the police after he was through with them.

At least, with the blood on his clothes, the other street dwellers avoid him.

He finds another hotel after a few days of wandering and sleeps on the floor. He keeps the door locked and the maid never bothers him. She’s too high to care about the bloody man on the ground. He probably looks more like a robot than a man to her, anyway.

He spends his free time stealing food and sharpening his knives. It’s a far more fulfilling lifestyle than when he spent it tied to a metal board. Sure, his arm is scratched and dirty, but it doesn’t matter. He can find a mechanic to deal with it.

If the Ryan Haywood story is to be believed, this arm is over 70 years old. He can find any thug to fix it. It’s probably common technology by now.

He tries, once. He grabs hold of one of the other guests and tells her to get it fixed. He doesn’t have all day. She tries to run, but he stops her before she can.

She doesn’t fix his arm, but when she shows him pictures of her kids- four and six- he lets her go. It’s not because of the kids- of course not- she just doesn’t understand the technology in his limb.

Hydra must have been updating the damn thing without telling him. Trying to keep him reliant on them. A backup plan, then. If the Vagabond runs away, he’ll have to come back. But he won’t. He can’t come back, now. It’s been 22 days, since he dragged Pattillo out of that water. 22 days, since he tore off that woman’s wing. Since he ran from those two archers. 22 days, since he lost his chance at one more.

He has trouble sleeping that night.

\---

The sound of footsteps wakes him. They aren’t quiet- not at all. They are loud, like steel boots on wooden floors. Loud, like the sound of Edgar’s anger. Loud, like his arm smashing against a shield.

He has his knife in hand, before he even opens his eyes. It is good that he does, because a moment later the door is open and there is an indent of a foot on the frame.

The Vagabond is already on his feet, but slowed as he shakes off the numbing grip of sleep. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he slashes at the air violently. He can’t see- can’t see anything! Where is his mask? He needs his mask! His mask filters air! He can't see and what if he can't breathe? He'll be-

“Stand down,” a cold, calculating voice orders. He knows it like the sound of his own voice, because he is used to hearing himself growl whenever this man is around. “I said stand down, Vagabond.”

Reggie is holding a gun, like he is ready for the Vagabond to attack him at any moment. He should, because he doesn’t want to go back. He should lunge at the scientist. He should tear his head from his shoulders. He wants to- has to- needs to. But Reggie holds up a piece of paper, and holds it out for him to read.

“New target. Maybe if you do good with him, we’ll let you get off with a warning.”

The Vagabond stares at the page and his heart sinks. He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to live that life, again. The 23 days were nice, while they lasted.

He doesn't want them to end.

“Where’s Edgar?” He asks, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Emotionless. That’s what he is supposed to be. Emotion is weak. The Vagabond is strong. He cannot be weak. They won’t tolerate it.

“Gone. That’s all you need to know. Now, get moving. We need to get you wiped. You know you shouldn’t be asking questions,” Reggie orders. He pauses for a second and locks eyes with the mercenary.  The suspicion in his eyes is evident. “Hail Hydra.”

The Vagabond apparently doesn’t answer quickly enough, because Reggie grabs hold of his collar and forces him down to his level.

“Hail Hydra.” Reggie repeats, slower this time.

“Hail Hydra.” The Vagabond answers, without much enthusiasm.

“You're acting wrong,” The scientist studies him for a moment, before he pushes him away. “Don't worry about it. You’re getting wiped tonight, anyway. That’ll be fun, eh?”

The Vagabond sheathes his knife. If he uses it against a handler, he’ll be killed, and if Edgar really is gone, Reggie is most likely to be his new owner. He was always Edgar’s second. It makes sense that he would be the first, now.

If he hurts him, they’ll make sure the punishment is worse than death.

The Vagabond lets Reggie push him forward, through the door of his current safe haven. The barrel of a gun is pressed against his back. He doesn’t dwell on it long- has had that feeling countless times before. But it is as Reggie is marching him away that the Vagabond remembers those footsteps.

He turns his head and comes face to face with the source of them- a man in a metal suit.

“Uh, hello,” A metallic voice tries. Reggie tenses and presses his weapon harder against the Vagabond’s spine. He can feel the painful pressure even through the coat, but he ignores it, because this is Reggie’s first order, isn't it? Attack the enemy. The Vagabond nods, accepting it without complaint. The metal head glances between the Vagabond and at Reggie. “We came to rescue you, but you seem a little preoccupied, right now. We can come back later if you want.”

“Geoff Ramsey,” Reggie snaps. He turns his attention back to the Vagabond and grins. This is going to be a test, isn't it? “New target, Vagabond. Prove yourself and maybe you won't have to get wiped.” Yep. It’s a test.

And that sounds good. It sounds really good. All he has to do is kill this metal man and he won't have to face wiping? That’s perfect. The chance of a lifetime!

He reaches for his knife- the best choice against a metal man. He has his own experiences with robotic limbs. A bullet simply ricochets, but a knife can wedge the plates apart and cut the wires inside. That's exactly what he needs to do to this man. It’ll be an easy kill. He probably doesn’t even know how to use the metal.

The man just waits, expressionless face staring as the Vagabond lunges for him. When the Vagabond is near, he simply latches onto the swinging limb and holds on tight. There is a sudden burst of heat and then the metal man is floating above the ground. Ramsey holds the Vagabond up by his metal arm, not even letting his feet touch the ground. He kicks out, but his foot only catches on steel. He tries to thrash out of the hold, but the other man is stronger than he is.

There might be two failures in a row, now. Hydra will hurt him for that.

“Woah there, big guy. We're not here to hurt you,” Ramsey promises. He looks somewhere behind the Vagabond and shakes his head. “You sure this is him, Cap?”

And oh. Oh shit. Not her! Not Captain America! Not the reason that this is all happening in the first place! He's going to get wiped because of her. He's going to get hurt because of her. He could _die_ because of her! Reggie hates him- has always hated him! It's her fault. She had something to do with Edgar’s disappearance. It's her fault!

“That's him. That's Ryan.” Her soft voice answers. He hates the sound of it.

“Finish him, Vagabond!” Reggie screams. The Captain knocks the gun out of his hand and pushes him against a wall. Within seconds, she has handcuffs in hand. Reggie is still screaming at the Vagabond to do something- anything- but somehow even that cannot be heard over the Captain’s normal speaking voice.

“Ryan, you don't have to do anything he says. You're free.”

And freedom may be sweet to them, but to Ryan freedom tastes eerily like damnation.

“Let me go!” He curses, trying to kick out of the metal man’s hold.

“Ryan-” the Captain tries. The Vagabond interrupts, without hesitation.

“That's not my name!” He screams. His teeth are bared like a wounded animal and he is thrashing like one, too. He feels like he should be foaming at the mouth.

“So that's the lies you're filling his ignorant little head with, huh? That he's your friend? You made us wipe him over _that_?” Reggie mocks, and for once, the Vagabond appreciates the other man’s interruptions. Anything to stop this failure would be a gift. “It's a lie, Vagabond! He’s turning you against us. We are one and they are trying to tear us apart! Hail Hydra!”

“Hail Hydra.” The Vagabond answers, quickly.

“Uh, Cap?” Ramsey asks, stupidly. “Your move.”

The Captain doesn't even hesitate. She stands, smugly staring down at Ryan’s captor- handler- master- owner- ally. He can't even bear to think of what she thinks of him. The attack dog of Hydra? The scum of the Earth? The failure of a mercenary? The 100% kill record that has quickly been slandered? He doesn't even know why he cares, but it hurts to picture.

“This one,” she pulls at Reggie’s cuffed wrists, “Should get locked away for a long time.”

“For what?” Reggie demands, like he is still in control of the situation. Even the Vagabond can see how the circumstances are rapidly deteriorating. “I haven't done anything wrong.”

“Except what you've made Ryan do. And god knows what you've done to him. I think there’s probably a few crimes in there.” The Captain answers.

“Let him go!” The Vagabond yells, because Reggie will escape, and if he reports that the Vagabond didn't even try to help him, they’ll hurt him. It might be every man for himself, but the Vagabond is in this for himself. When these two fail, Hydra will rise. If they're cutting off Reggie’s head, two more will grow. He doesn't want to be eaten by them.

“Ryan-” the Captain sighs, and instead turns to Ramsey. “We need to bring him to base.”

“And how do you propose we transfer him, you genius? You really thought this one out, huh?” The metal man asks, completely oblivious to the man growling in his grip.

“Caleb?” The Captain asks, a little louder than before.

The woman, whose wing the Vagabond had so carelessly removed, stepped out from inside one of the hotel rooms. Of course she did. They'd been waiting for this, haven't they? This was an ambush by both sides. The Vagabond was the bait and the quarry.

He feels sick, already.

The metal man lowers him so that his knees can touch the ground, but a hand on his neck keeps him pinned in place. His arm is still hovering above his head, unable to move. The metal man has him effectively trapped. He will have to remember the humiliation of it, because he will need to return the favor. Tormenting the Vagabond does not go unpunished.

The once-winged woman approaches him with a large needle in her hand. He doesn’t know what could be inside, but he would prefer not to know.

The Vagabond struggles, but the grip of the metal man is too strong. Before the Vagabond can even take another breath, there is a needle being jabbed into his arm. It's rough and the woman moves the needle under his skin, but he's faced much worse than a botched injection. He most likely won't even bruise.

“Good plan.” Ramsey says. His voice cuts through the fog that is quickly forming in the Vagabond’s head.

“We will find you, if you don't come back!” Reggie practically snarls. It’s addressed to him, and everyone there knows it. It seems that the scientist has already chalked this up to a defeat. The Vagabond cannot help but agree with that assumption.

His head is already swimming and there are black spots that are already dancing in his vision. It has barely been a few seconds, and his eyelids already feel like they are made of lead. Whatever they injected him with, it worked, and the Vagabond lost this fight. He’ll just have to win it back, later.

For now, he shuts his eyes and spits out one final jab against the Captain that put him in this situation. If she really thinks that he’s her friend, he might as well hit her where it hurts. It is the least he can do.

“ _I_ jumped after _you._ Did you ever do it for me?”

It bites hard enough that it will sting for hours. That’s a victory in his book.

\---

“You think he’s alright?”

“He’s fine. Maybe not comfortable, but he’s fine. He’s safer here than he would have been.”

A pause.

“Can we get him a burger?”

“If you want. Give Steffie your order and it’ll be here in a couple minutes. Order me some whiskey, too.”

\---

His arms are stuck. He tugs at them, uselessly, but cannot move them past the small of his back. Tied up, then. The Captain and her metal man were careful. He’ll have to think to get out of this one.

Come to think of it, he has never been captured before. He’s been restrained, sure, but that wasn’t by a captor. It was Hydra- always Hydra. It was Lester, who wouldn’t walk into the room unless his arm was deactivated and his working limbs held down. It was Percival, who kept him in the cryo and only letting him go six times. It was Edgar, who wouldn’t let a week go by without a wipe. That, at least, was familiar.

This is wrong. This is his stronger arm being held down by a chain that he cannot break. This is his weaker arm, pressing up against it and shaking as the cold metal touched it. This is a room made of the same metal that his hand is made of- the odd and unbreakable material that feels cold no matter what.

He struggles and tries to find a leverage that will allow him to break the chain. It doesn’t work and only burns his wrists as he scrapes against it. There are scratches forming on his fist and he can feel them developing. Hopefully, he is scratching at the chains as well.

They’ll be looking for him. The Vagabond is a tool. He is their weapon. They won’t let him get away. He won’t be here for long.

His legs are stretched out in front of him, and damn if that isn’t stupid of them. If they are chaining him down, they need to do it fully. Otherwise, it will be easy to destroy them.

Stupid. That’s what they are. They’re stupid, ignorant, and insolent.

Hydra is careful with him. Hydra recognizes that he is a monster. A murderer. A creature bent on destruction. They wouldn’t leave him free. These captors are stupider. They’ll die for it.

He tries to shift himself onto his knees, but the chains refuse to allow any sort of movement. The Captain must have warned them about his punch. She’s giving him a pretty short leash. He’s surprised they let him keep his arm. They probably just don’t know how to get rid of it.

Normally, he would laugh at the thought, but when he thinks of her, all he can think of is that plaque. The face that matches his own perfectly. His grin sinks into a frown as he tries to replay the scene of the fight on the flying ship. The bruised and bloody face of his enemy. The pain radiating from his arm that lasted for days. The twist in his ankle that only hurt for a few hours. The ‘one more’ that he failed.

They will send him after this group. While they’re sleeping, driving, wounded, or sick. They will send him after them and he will rebuild his name. He will surprise them and he will make it hurt.

He’ll kill those two archers. He’ll kill the red and black one, who tackled him in his first fight with the Captain. He’ll kill the winged one, and make her pay for incapacitating him. He’ll torment the metal man and humiliate him like he humiliated the Vagabond.

He’ll leave the Captain for last. He’ll let her see that he is not Ryan Haywood. That he is a threat and should not be taken lightly. He can kill every last one of them and they won’t even know until the knife is lodged in their throat.

Maybe then, he can forget about Haywood. Maybe then, he can restore his 100% kill record. Edgar will return and Reggie will be killed for allowing the Vagabond to be captured. Oh- maybe they’ll let him kill the man. That would be a sweet retribution.

Maybe they’ll let him stay out of cryo and they won’t wipe him and “one more” will be true. No more punishment for noticeable work. No more cryo, as he waits until the next target comes along. No more wipes at the slightest infraction.

He needs to kill this Captain, immediately.

Thankfully, his wish is granted.

It isn’t so much as a door opens as the _wall_ does. The wall that he has been staring at for hours simply retracts. It is a fairly silent endeavor, like the thing was designed to simply disappears. It moves slowly, but the Vagabond is too enraptured by the technology to care about that. There were no creases on the metal. He had been staring at it for long enough to know that. It was perfectly straight and sharp, earlier. It still is as the wall splits into two pieces and retracts into two different corners.

If the Vagabond was not trained to focus on the enemy, first, he would not have even bothered to glance at the three figures standing in the space that has been revealed. It does not present much of a difference, but now the room is twice as large and there is a door. He lunges forward, trying to break his chain so that he can make a run for it. It doesn’t work and it just makes the Captain look away from him.

Good. She doesn’t deserve to look at him.

They take a few steps closer and it isn’t long before the walls slam shut behind them. Remote controlled, then. One of them probably has the controller. They might be stupid enough to carry the keys, too. If he can take the three of them down, he’ll be free.

The Vagabond stares up at the three intruders- one of the archers, the metal man, and the aforementioned Captain. Without her bow, he can easily remove the archer from the situation. The Captain is soft. She’ll let him kill her out of some misplaced sense of friendship. Idiot.

The only issue here might be Ramsey, who is already clenching his fists as he eyes his prisoner. Protective, then. He can work with that.

There is a long moment of silence, before the Vagabond finally breaks it. He softens his expression and increases the shaking in his left arm.

“Jack?” He asks, softly. It’s good. It’s convincing and the Captain’s expression softens. “Where am I? What’s happening?”

The metal man tilts his head, narrowing his eyes beneath that green and black helmet of his. He seems to be having trouble buying it, so the Vagabond decides to lay on the act harder.

“Jack, what the fuck is going on? You-” He turns his eyes to Ramsey and makes a show of tugging on his restraints. “Geoff! Geoff, help-”

Ramsey turns to the Captain and shakes his head. The archer stares at him with cold eyes, and the Vagabond has to hold laughter back. Does she think that looks threatening?

“Ryan Haywood never met Geoff.” The archer informs him.

Well- shit. That act didn’t last long.

“Theatre school worked for you then, huh?” The Captain asks, sounding _disappointed._

“Maybe he should have spent a few more years there.” She sounds smug and it just makes him angrier. Who is she to think that she is above him? Just because he’s the one in chains and she is standing tall? He has killed more people than she has ever even met. She should be begging him not to attack.

“Maybe you should have spend a few more years on target practice. I don’t recall ever being hit by any arrows on our last meeting.” He snarks, through clenched teeth. Her fists clench. Good. Ramsey is protective, the Captain is soft, and the archer has anger management issues. Maybe this will be easier than he thought.

“I’d like to see you do better.” She takes a step forward, threateningly. Perfect.

He kicks out, roughly, aiming to swipe her foot out from under her. She manages to step over his first sweep, but his second foot catches her. She falls. Before Ramsey can even react, the Captain is moving to catch her. Too late.

She lands on the ground, head smacking against the metal floor. He kicks out again, but Ramsey is already there. The catches both of the Vagabond’s legs, pinning them to the floor as the Captain attempts to tend to the archer.

The wall creeps open, like someone outside was watching the encounter. It didn’t work out too well for them. They retreat, quickly, with the Captain carrying the wounded party out, and Ramsey staying behind until the others were gone.

He tightens his grip, until the Vagabond can practically feel the blood pooling in his lower legs, but he doesn’t say a word. The mercenary simply locks eyes with his foe, a cruel smile forcing its way onto his lips. Spit pools on his tongue, but he doesn’t swallow. He cannot let himself seem nervous. These people are far worse than Hydra. They’ll eat him alive.

“You’re lucky you were Jack’s friend,” Ramsey says, low and angry. So the plan is working. Good. “You do this shit, again, and you’ll be wishing Hydra will take you back.”

The Vagabond can feel the grin slip away. That was a low blow.

They know he’s going back, don’t they? He isn’t going to give them information or friendship or whatever they want from him. When they realize that, they’ll get sick of him. They’ll throw him back to those scientists and soldiers, and he’ll be their attack dog, again.

They have to know that, right? They can’t be that stupid. That was an intentional attack. It had to be.

He collects the drool on the tip of his tongue and shoots. The spit lands exactly where he wanted it: Ramsey’s helmet.

The grip on his legs get impossibly tighter and the Vagabond can feel the bones fracture- can hear them snap. He doesn’t react to the pain, but oddly enough, Ramsey does. The expressionless helmet glances down at his own hands, like they are covered in blood. They’re clean, but he doesn’t stop staring. He lets go of the mercenary, backing away like the Vagabond had just threatened to kill his entire family. That was- Why did he react like that?

This is run of the mill, isn’t it? Isn’t it normal to hurt someone to get what you want? Ramsey made a threat and presented his warning. This is a message for the next meeting, isn’t it?

‘I hurt you, you give me what I’m asking for.’ That’s the point of this, right?

Ramsey stumbles out of the room and stares at the Vagabond until the walls close him in.

He wonders what he sees.

\---

“I hurt him.”

“You did what?”

“He hurt Meg. I heard she’s concussed. Steffie, is she concussed?”

A pause. A robotic voice. An affirmation.

“See!”

“You hurt him?”

“I… Yes?”

“You can’t blame him for this, Geoff.”

“He hurt Meg. He hurt Caleb. He hurt you. This is his fault.”

“It’s not.”

\---

What is this?

Because the motive here cannot simply be “You’re my friend”. That can’t be it. If the Captain really was his friend, she wouldn’t have locked him in a 7x7 room that he can’t even stand in. Besides, he isn’t the friendliest of people. Even if he was Ryan Haywood, wouldn’t the Captain get rid of him, once she realizes what he really is?

He hurt their friend, but when Ramsey tried to hurt him, he ran off immediately. It doesn’t make sense, and his legs are crying out when he shifts them, and his arms are starting to ache, and there is a burning behind his eyes that just _won’t go away!_

It doesn’t matter. His legs will fix themselves within a few days. This headache will fade. The answers will come to him. He just needs to take it in stride. He can’t worry, because worry leads to mistakes and he can’t have that. Not here and not now.

They will return. They have to. They don’t know how long he can last without food, without water. They don’t know his limitations, but they don’t know what he can live without, either. To be quite honest, he doesn’t even know the answer to that. Hydra was quite wary about informing their subject about his strengths and weaknesses. He has a feel for them, but all he knows is that sometimes they give him food and sometimes they don’t. That’s just the way life goes.

He doesn’t even know how old he is.

Haywood would be in his 90’s now, right? It’s been 70 years, since the war ended. 70 years, since Hydra might have plucked him from the base of a mountain. He couldn’t have been less than 20, when he died. So 90’s, probably.

If he trusts the Captain, he is a mutant. 90 years old, but somehow survived the passage of time. Lester couldn’t survive it. Percival couldn’t survive it. Now, even Edgar couldn’t survive it. What makes the Vagabond any different?

If he trusts Hydra, he doesn’t get answers. Don’t ask- don’t tell. Maybe he was born for this. Maybe he was made in a test tube. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Haywood probably had a family. Haywood probably had friends (the number five jumps to his head). Haywood probably had a life in-between missions. That’s what normal people are like, right? They have free time that isn’t spent in a cell. When Reggie goes home, he isn’t restrained and left to sleep on the hard metal ground. He gets a mattress, like the one in a hotel. Haywood probably had that, too.

Thinking about it _hurts_. It’s like an ice-pick slowly being stabbed into his brain and leaving him dizzy and lightheaded. It pokes out from between his eyes, threatening to kill him or hurt him or whatever. Remembering is painful.

He barely even notices it, when the wall retracts. It hurts too much to care.

But training overcomes pain, and he tightens his expression. Coldness. Cool and callous anger. That is what he needs to channel. That is the only thing that he is allowed to feel.

The metal man is there, again, pinning his legs back into the ground. He tries to fight it, but between the headache and the pain in his legs, he doesn’t put much effort into it. They have him. He’s their little prison bitch.

_We’ll see how long that lasts, you motherfuckers._

“How’re you feeling, Ryan?” The Captain asks. The Vagabond notices, with a sense of accomplishment, that they are the only two here, this time.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at her. They have already played their cards. They’re trying to get him to give them something. Information, loyalty, or a hit that they cannot achieve. He won’t play their games.

The hands tighten on his legs, before settling back down. He doesn’t flinch.

“We brought food, water. You want medicine? We can get you some, if you need.” Soft. Always too soft. It’s going to get her killed, someday. It almost did on that ship.

“Shove it up your ass.”

“Either way, it’s ending up in your mouth. Which do you think tastes better? Ass or no ass?” The Captain says, with a fair amount of humor.

It’s weird. Why is she joking with a prisoner?

“We gonna have to get an IV?” Ramsey inquires, looking up at the Captain like she holds the answer. The Vagabond doesn’t get a say at all.

“I will kill everyone you love.”

“Yeah, sure, buddy,” He lets out an almost-inhuman snarl, but the metal man ignores him, turning his attention to the Captain, instead. “Should we send Caleb to get it?”

The Captain sighs, looking at the Vagabond, like she is disappointed in him. Always. She always give him that look. Why does he hate it so much? His hands are shaking again, and he can’t stop them.

“You can come back with it, later. I think I-” She cuts herself off, and stares at her shoes. She doesn’t even need to be on guard and it disgusts him. People should fear his mere presence, but here he is being held down like a struggling kitten. It’s pathetic. “I think I need a break.”

“I’ll hold him down, until you get out.” Ramsey promises, with genuine concern running across his face.

There is that protectiveness, again. There it is, and the Vagabond’s plan is failing, because of it. He shouldn’t have struck so early. He should have waited. They’re not going to keep the keys on them, anymore. Not if they restrain him as soon as they enter the room. He can’t hit them if he can’t move.

He’s screwed. Stuck until Hydra finds him, if they’re even looking.

He freezes at the thought, and doesn’t even notice the look that Ramsey gives him for that. They have to be looking. They can’t just leave him here. They need him! He needs them! They have to get him out!

But didn’t Edgar mention a thousand times that, if he screws up, they’ll replace him? Is this that? Did he screw up hard enough? Are they even looking?

Reggie did, but Reggie’s gone. They have him, too. What if they stop looking for them? What if the Vagabond is stuck with these ne’er-do-wrongs for the rest of his life? What if they realize that he’s not the man that they’re looking for? Would they just leave him to die in this suddenly too-small room?

Would that be better? His life has been murder after murder after murder after wipe after cryo after murder. Wouldn’t it be better to die, now, than to live on and die slowly? He doesn’t know and he hates thinking about it. The Vagabond can’t be a traitor. The Vagabond is a loyalist. He is a tool. The Vagabond is a weapon. They can’t take that from him.

Hadn’t Ramsey implied that, earlier? He’d made it out to seem like Hydra was awful to him. As if they hadn’t given him a life and shelter and food.

_“You do this shit, again, and you’ll be wishing Hydra will take you back.”_

Isn’t that implying that Hydra is bad for him?

The Captain is already gone, when the metal man lets go of his legs and begins to walk forward. As much as the Vagabond is glad to see him go, he can’t help but to stop him, with one stupid question.

“What makes you think I don’t want to go back?” The question burns, when he asks it. Like the memories that dance on the edge of his mind and refuse to be tamed. It makes Ramsey stop in his tracks.

“To Hydra?” At the Vagabond’s nod, he continues. “I was there in the hotel. You didn’t seem too happy to see that Reggie guy, did you?”

He doesn’t answer, and after a moment Ramsey shrugs and walks away. The walls close as the door opens and the Vagabond is left by himself.

He can’t help, but to think that, if Hydra was here, they would kill him.

\---

“You’re right. I think Haywood might actually be in there.”

\---

The next time the metal man comes, alone this time, he is holding two pairs of metal cuffs. The Vagabond has no illusions as to what they are for.

He latches one pair around his ankles and puts one hand on his captive’s head. He pushes down, forcing the Vagabond to shift himself, so that he is lying on the ground instead of sitting upright. The chains are connected to the ones around his hands and suddenly all leverage is gone.

“Hey, look at it this way, you’ll have a better time sleeping.”

This time, when the Vagabond spits, most of it lands on the floor.

\---

“He’ll make progress. I think we might just have to break him down to build him back up.”

“I’m pretty sure Hydra said that, too, Geoff.”

\---

They offer him food, at one point, but his life is a haze and he forgets about it within the hour.

There is no way of telling time in this cell. It’s just more and more time spent with his head pressed against a cold metal floor, with his limbs trapped behind him. His legs felt better, at some point, so maybe it’s been a few days, but he still has no knowledge of anything past that.

Eventually, they stick a needle in him, and the winged one forces fluids and nutrients into his system. The hunger strike, that he hadn’t even been aware of, is over. Ramsey watches over him the whole time. He doesn’t move a muscle.

\---

“There’s something off with him. I can’t tell if he’s planning something or if we’re getting through to him.”

“I hope he’s not shutting us out.”

A new voice, for once, in these depressing debriefs.

“You lock him in a room 24/7. I’d shut you out, too. Give him some damn entertainment and maybe he’ll respond.”

\---

The male archer walks into the room, once. He isn’t carrying any weapons- they probably aren’t allowed to- but he has four balls and he spends the next hour trying to learn to juggle.

Why he would ever try to learn to juggle in a room with a captured mercenary is beyond the captive. Is it a show of power? He can move around, while the Vagabond is trapped in a space, without any chance of movement. Or is it just pure stupidity? Is he too dumb to realize that this is an insult?

The Vagabond may not have been programmed with pride, but he understood humiliation. He understood that this is that. This man can waste an hour talking to a prisoner and juggling, while the Vagabond is trapped like a rat.

“Meg doesn’t blame you, you know.” The archer says, as he searches the room for a missing ball. The Vagabond is too perplexed to remain quiet.

“What?”

“Meg. The girl you hurt, when you first got here. She says, she doesn’t blame you. Jack doesn’t either.”

“Why?”

“We’d do the same thing if we were you. Hell, if I didn’t know who I was, I’d be like ‘who am I?’ You’re taking this real well, actually.”

“I know who I am.” He’s the Vagabond. The mercenary. Lester’s greatest creation.

“Do you?”  He doesn’t answer, and the archer keeps juggling. “Names Gavin, you know. What’s yours?”

Why is he introducing himself? Does he think that he cares? He doesn’t. He couldn’t give less of a shit about this annoying distraction.

“Don’t you already have a name picked out for me?” He asks, bitterly.

“You mean ‘Ryan’? I mean, yeah, that was your name, but you don’t seem too happy with it. So what do you call yourself?”

“Why do you care?”

“Dunno. You’re an interesting guy.” He isn’t lying. The Vagabond can hear it in his voice. He’s serious. There isn’t a malicious intent. Unless he is the perfect actor, he is genuinely curious.

Don’t ask- don’t tell. But what if they do ask?

“Vagabond.” He says, simply. His tongue twists on the word, but he manages to recover, before the archer- before Gavin can notice. Even his mouth can’t do right, anymore.

“That’s not a name.” He drops another ball, but catches it before it can hit the ground.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not a name. A name is like James, or George, or Gavin. ‘Vagabond’ isn’t a name. That’s a title. What’s your name?”

“I don’t-” He doesn’t know how to finish that. He doesn’t know it? He doesn’t have one? He settles for trailing off, and the archer seems to notice.

“That’s alright. You’ll find one.” He drops a ball and it lands next to the Vagabond’s mouth. He reaches down and grabs it, without flinching. He doesn’t even react, when the mercenary reaches to bite him. It’s weird.

\---

“That was… that was great! How’d you do that?”

“I dunno. He just doesn’t scare me. Just talk to him. He’s not too well off, but it’s easier to talk than you think.”

\---

It’s the Captain, again. The Vagabond is almost disappointed, when he realizes that it isn’t the archer, but stops the thought before it can repeat. He shouldn’t like his captors. He should kill them. He should hurt them. He should have bitten that archer, when he got the chance. One bite, and the archer would never be able to shoot, again. One bite, and another one of his enemies would be incapacitated.

Why didn’t he do it?

The Captain approaches him, slowly, and he jerks against the chains. She doesn’t flinch at the movement. She just keeps moving, until she is crouching directly in front of him. They still aren’t at eye level- not with the way that he is positioned, but at least he can see her face and not her boots. That is a nice change.

“How are you feeling?” She asks, with that motherly voice that makes this so much more humiliating. He doesn’t answer, so she just continues on. “They convicted that guy in the motel, you know. Life in prison. He’s finally getting justice.”

“Justice for what?” The Vagabond can’t stop himself from asking.

“Whatever he did to you. We’re trying to help you, R-” She stops herself, before she can finish the name. She clears her throat, and waits until he responds. He doesn’t want to please her, but he wants the answers that he’s been denied for who-knows how many years.

“What do you think he did to me?” Reggie never left him like this group did. Reggie never locked him up in cuffs that were too tight in an angle that is designed to dig them into his skin. Reggie never left him for days, like this. If there was any free time, he would be in cryo. It was better than this.

“I don’t know. He didn’t confess to anything, but based on his connection to the Vagabond project-” is that what he is? A project? Is that what they call him, when he isn’t there? When he’s present, it’s ‘asset’. When he is gone, is he just a ‘project’? “-they had enough proof to lock him away for a long time.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He demands, scowling as she inches closer to him. He is already gathering spit on his tongue- ready to shoot on any second. The action seems to have a great effect on these people.

“‘Cause he hurt you. I saw you at that motel. You looked like you were scared of him. You shouldn’t have to be afraid. I’m trying to show you that we’re not the enemy.” She sounds like she is isn’t only trying to convince him.

“You are.”

“We’re really not. We’re here to help you.”

“Then let me go.” It’s a feeble hope, but he knows that it will hurt her. That is all he can go for, anyway. He failed. All he can do is hope that Hydra reaches him in time.

“I can’t. You’ll hurt people.”

“That’s my job.” He answers, coldly. She shakes her head.

“Ryan-” She starts. He cuts her off, before she can finish.

“Ryan died. Get over it.” He barks out. She ignores him, just like always.

She reaches into the pocket of her sweater, and the Vagabond tenses, when he sees something shift. It could be a finger or it could be a weapon. Either way, he presses himself up against the wall, as much as he can. He doesn’t want to die- not until Hydra can find him.

Instead of pulling out a knife, she takes a piece of paper and begins to flatten it against the ground. Her mouth is pulled into a frown, but he doesn’t care.

Is this a target? Is that what he’s really here for? If he takes this mark out, will they let him go? He’ll do it, if it means his freedom. Humiliation is better than loss, after all. If they let him go, it makes it easier to kill them later. Fools.

Except, it isn’t a target that she shows him. It’s a photograph, yes, but not of any specific mark. It’s old. Black and white and shitty quality. The edges are frayed from years of damage, but the image is still clear.

Two figures- one a male and one a female. The girl is small, sickly, scrawny, and has a military badge on her shirt that seems bigger than she is. The other is taller, broader, and wearing an old American military uniform, but is hefting her into the air, like that doesn’t mean anything at all. They are both smiling and both oblivious to the horrors of the war that he is about to enter.

Something in him can remember that moment. His knuckles hurt and he wasn’t looking forward to the next few years of his life, but he didn’t care too much, at that moment. He was with a friend and that was all that mattered.

It might have been the last time that they saw each other, but he hugged her anyway, and whispered a joke into her ear. She laughed, he laughed, and then he went off to war.

The Vagabond shouldn’t remember that. The pain blossoming in his skull is proof enough of that.

“Why are you showing me this?” He demands, distracted by the headache that is quickly approaching.

“To show you who you are. You're my friend, man. You're just figuring it out a little late.”

“You're not my friend.”

“I am, Ryan, I-”

“That’s not me!” He mumbles, pushing back against the wall. His head is killing him, now. The pins and needles are digging deeper and it feels like his skull is on fire.

Remembering _hurts_.

“We've been friends, since-”

“Stop it.”

“-we were kids. You-”

“Stop it.”

“-helped me cut my hair, when the boys wouldn't let me play with them, remember?”

“Don't make me hurt you.” And his voice is getting more and more desperate, but she drones on like it doesn't matter.

“We used to watch movies a lot. Remember that? The last one was the Indian one, right?”

“I will.” He feels like his head is splitting apart at the seams, but he can't move his hands to try to numb the pain. It’s too bright and too loud and it’s all getting to him, and he can’t stop it.

“You hit that guy in the alley, and they shipped you off to war. They got you, but I got you back. Twice, now, Ryan. I got you back. You need to come back, Ry. You need to come back to me-”

“Stop it!” This time, he screams it, and he is certain that even Ramsey and the archers- all located somewhere outside of this small cell (and outside is such a foreign concept, isn't it? Outside is just a door, now)- can hear him.

“Ryan?” The Captain asks, uncertainly, like his outburst meant anything to her.

“When I'm free, I'm going to rip you limb from limb. I'm going to fashion a new mask out of your bones, while you're still breathing. I'm going to piss on your ashes, after I burn you to a fucking crisp. And before any of that, I'm going to kill every single person you love. Maybe then you’ll realize that I am not your fucking friend,” and even as the words are escaping his mouth, he feels like he has to convince himself, too. “You are my target. That’s it!”

The Captain finally falls into silence, staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn't care.

“Ryan-” She starts, but he interrupts her, before she can.

“Hail Hydra!” He rattles the chain on his right wrist, as he tries to break free.

And the Vagabond is done playing their games.

\---

“That didn't go too well. Wait, where are you going? Jack- Jack, it's alright. It's alright. He's just working through some things. We just need to keep up with this and it'll all work out in the end, I promise. Just give him some time. It’s alright!”

\---

His thumb is burning, when the Captain walks in, next. He has the digit pressed against his palm, and while it may be misshapen, it will heal. The Captain will regret his capture.

She sits down in front of him, within his reach, and he has to hold back laughter. What a fool. What a stupid ignorant fool. She still trusts him, and she is an idiot for it. To trust the Vagabond is to ask for a death sentence.

“They locked away Mark Nutt. Did you know him?” She doesn’t bother to look at him, despite the fact that he really wants her to. He wants her to stare death in the face. He wants her to see how little he cares, when he chokes the life out of her. He wants to watch the light leave her eyes. He wants to watch her beg, like all of the other victims before her.

This is a test. It has to be. If it wasn’t, Hydra would have found him already. The fact that he is still here means that they’re playing with him. All he needs to do is prove himself, and they’ll let him go.

One more.

“Yes.” He says it quietly enough that she can’t hear it. She leans in closer, and he takes his chance.

He lunges forward with his left arm, wrapping it around the back of her neck and pulling her forward. With one tug, he brings her head crashing against the ground. He grabs hold of her throat and clenches his fingers as hard as he possibly can. Her hands try to tug him away, but his grip is firm. He is not letting her get away.

“You should’ve let me go.” He states, watching as she struggles against his grip. The enemy will be pouring in within seconds, but it doesn’t matter. The wall is slow to move. The Captain will be dead by then, and Hydra will rescue him.

“I don’t…” she tries, in between desperate attempts to suck in air. The wall is cracking open, but the Vagabond won’t let go, when they come in. He needs to see her die. He needs to see his target breath her last breathe.

“...blame you.” She finishes, looking up at him with dimmed eyes and a reassuring smile.

Ramsey is pushing at the wall, trying to slip between the crack, but his suit is too bulky. He can hear Gavin’s voice, desperately screaming for the Captain to keep fighting. He’s begging him to let go, too.

She’ll die if he doesn’t. They all know that. He’ll have his victory, and Hydra might finally come back for him. Captain America will finally be dead, and S.H.I.E.L.D. will be gone, and the Vagabond will finally have his victory.

The Captain goes limp, and he can only hear the half-whispered phrase over and over, again. Why shouldn’t she blame him? This is his doing. It’s his choice. It’s his actions.

Is it?

Gavin screams at him to let go. He does.

\---

“Get Jack to Caleb! Now! Double time!”

\---

There’s even more restraints, now. His wrist is bolted safely back into place, but they don’t stop there. There is metal wrapped around his elbows and even a piece around his neck, chaining him to the goddamn wall. Hydra’s attack dog really does look the part, now.

The Captain doesn’t come back, and come to think of it, none of them do. They let him sit there, stare at the grey walls for days on end. They haven’t even come in with the IV, lately. It’s almost like they’ve forgotten about him.

They haven’t, though. He’s fairly certain that they’ve just given up.

He’s a lost cause. There isn’t an ounce of loyalty to be found in his bones. He is Hydra’s mercenary and nothing more. He’s glad that they’ve started to realize that.

They aren’t going to let him go. They don’t want him “hurting others” and would rather chain him to the wall, like a rabid fucking dog. Like their lives are worth more than his freedom. He hasn’t moved a single muscle in who-knows how long, but apparently they are more important than he is.

_You do this shit, again, and you’ll be wishing Hydra will take you back._

He does. He wants to go back to Russia. He wants to see Siberia, again, if only to have a taste of that freedom, again. Somehow, they have made him long for the cryo, the wipes, the hits. At least they allowed him to move. Here, he is just attached directly to the wall, without any give in the chains. No escape and no chance for freedom. With Hydra, there was always the end game of global domination. With these people, there is nothing. No hope for a future. He’s just left here to die.

Is this the life Ryan Haywood lived, when he worked with the Captain? Chained like a dog, between missions? Left to starve if he made a mistake? Is that why the Captain didn’t bother to follow him off that cliff?

And oh, he can remember that. Through the burning in his brain, he can picture that exact moment. He couldn’t move his right arm- the Captain had injured it days before that mission. She didn’t even know, did she?

He’d been blown off the train, but he caught that pole. He had it, and Jack was climbing down, and everything was going to be alright, and Jack was holding out her hand, but he couldn’t move his arm, and he couldn’t hold himself up, and he was _f_ _alling_ and screaming and-

His mind is a cloud of endless pain. A familiar sort, like the type that originates from a wipe. That is the only thing that he can remember about them, anyway.

It hurts, and he wishes that he could get something to help combat it. He can’t, though. He can’t even move his head to shield his eyes from the light. There isn’t any room in this collar for movement.

\---

“Ray, I think Ryan needs help!”

“But Geoff and Jack aren’t here, and I don’t think Caleb-”

“It doesn’t matter! We’ve gotta help him!”

\---

He barely acknowledges the two figures, who sprint into his cell. He’s too focused on falling and pain and a life that didn’t center around a shadow military organization. A life of nothing, really, but theatre school and friendship and disappointment.

He can remember waving around two hands of equal weight and size. He can remember his first wipe, when his right hand was still fleshy, and the technology wasn’t yet perfected. He can remember seeing the face of Hydra’s first leader, and he can remember the second, and the third, and the fourth.

He can remember a snowy valley in-between two different lives. A missing arm, blackened fingers, and cold everywhere.

He shouldn’t be remembering this, and his entire body is screaming, and the memories aren’t fading. What is this?

“Vagabond, you alright? What’s wrong?” The archer asks, like he is genuinely worried. The Vagabond doesn’t answer. “Ray, you’re a scientist! What’s wrong with him?”

“Doesn’t look like he has radiation poisoning.”

“Ray!”

“What? I’m not a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor.” The Vagabond states, eager for the distraction. Maybe, if he doesn’t think about it, his head will stop tearing itself apart. He doesn’t want to remember if this is what it costs him. It’s the wipe times a thousand. It’s like being shot forty times in the dick. He doesn’t care enough about anything to go through that.

“See, he’s fine,” Ray says. “I’d take his word for it.”

“Did you have a nightmare or something?” Gavin asks, crouching down in front of the Vagabond, without a care in the world. He shouldn’t be scared, really. The mercenary is too chained down to move at all.

“What?” Why would they think there’s a problem in the first place? He hasn’t been able to do anything. And are they really watching him every moment of the day?

“You were screaming,” oh. “We came to help.” Double oh.

Was he?

“I’m fine.”

“When was the last time you ate? I don’t think anyone’s been in here in days.” Soft. Is he soft, too?

And that begs a question, doesn’t it? If Gavin really is here for his best interest, maybe he’ll answer a few questions.

“How long have I been here?” It’s a question that has been killing him for who-knows how long, but he’s never really been in the position to ask. Maybe, now, he’ll finally get his answer.

“Two months, I think?” Gavin answers, hesitantly. It’s like he doesn’t know how to break the news, but he knows that the Vagabond will kill him if he doesn’t respond.

“What?” He asks, more out of disbelief than confusion.

Two months? Hydra hasn’t even tried to rescue him for two whole months? They’ve never even let him be awake for two months straight, but they’ll leave him in enemy hands? Does he not even matter to them? Is he really just as replaceable as Edgar said?

“Two months. 62 days. I thought he was pretty clear.” Ray snarks, without a hint of a smile. Gavin glares at him, and he just shrugs.

“Two months.” He repeats.

“Yeah.”

The headache is fading, and he’s grateful for that, but too distracted to even process that fact. Hydra left him for two months?

And as much as he wants to say that they’re lying, he knows that it’s true. It feels accurate- Hell, it feels like he’s been here even longer than that. They are really telling him the truth.

He lost his record, and they got rid of him for it.

“Why am I still here?” He asks, eventually.

“It’s all Jack, really. She thinks that she can get through to you.” Gavin answers, looking almost guilty. Next to him, Ray just looks bored.

“I don’t understand. Why? She’s my target.” He’s so sure of it, because it’s the last thing that he knows. Everything else is in question, here, but not that. He might not know his name, where he’s from, who he is, or even who his allies are, but he knows that Captain America is his target. He needs that. He really, really does.

“Then why didn’t you kill her?” Ray’s eyes lock onto his. His glare seems to sink right into the Vagabond’s mind, like he can read his very thoughts, with just a glance.

“I was apprehended.”

“You let go. I saw the footage. You could’ve held on; we all know that. Why didn’t you?” Ray demands, sticking his hands into his pockets.

“You would’ve killed me, if I had.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have tried, at all, then.” He’s smart. He’s probably the smartest out of the whole group, really. The Vagabond will need to take him out, first.

Or will he? It doesn’t seem like he has a reason to, now. Who is he even fighting for?

“It was a warning.”

“Worked out so well for you, then huh?” Ray gestures to his restraints, and lets out a little laugh.

“And why do you think I let go?”

Even Gavin is silent, paying close attention to the conversation. Too much is being revealed. They need to stop, but the Vagabond needs answers, and he can’t live without them, anymore. He needs them, like he needs air.

“I think you’re starting to realize who really cares about you.”

“Hydra.” He says, already knowing that it’s a lie. At this point, he is trying to convince himself as much as he is convincing them.

“Hydra never came for you. Jack did.” Ray states, bluntly. If it is meant to hurt, it succeeds.

“Why would she care?”

“Because she was friends with you, before you were you. The world isn’t out to get you, Skeletor.”

He shuts his eyes and no more words are exchanged.

He misses that mask.

\---

“I think we’re getting through to him, Geoff!”

“And?”

“That’s good! It’ll make Jack happy!”

“Jack shouldn’t give a shit about a murderer.”

“Geoff-”

“Just let him die. Fucker deserves it.”

\---

How much of it was real? How much of his life has been a complete lie? How many years has he been indiscriminately killing for a cause that couldn’t give a shit about him?

The pain in his head has faded away to nothingness. It’s like his own mind has given up on him, just like the owners did. It lets him remember, because he has nothing left, anyway.

And the phrase “owners” alone is horrible too, isn’t it? It treats him like he isn’t human. He has worked with dogs and test subjects, and they seem to treat them similarly to the way they treated him. They aren’t people. They aren’t individuals. They are tools. They are weapons. Cogs in a machine.

No one has visited him, since the archer reinserted that IV. He took it away, quickly, though. They can’t leave him with a potential weapon. Even a small needle is dangerous in his hands. The worst part is that it is. He can already picture ways to hurt someone with it.

_Stab it into a vein and twist._

_Stab it into the eyes._

_Stick it down their mouth and force them to swallow. Let it tear their throat open and the way down, or slice into their intestines._

They shouldn’t trust him with anything. They were smart to lock him in a room with nothing. They were smart to chain his head, when he hadn’t even tried to bite, yet. They were smart to capture him, before he could go after them.

They are the smart ones. So who’s the stupid one?

\---

“You’re not going back in there.”

“I am.”

“He tried to kill you, Jack!”

“And he stopped. I’m a grown up, Geoff. I can handle myself.”

“He’s going to hurt you.”

“He’s saved my life, enough. It’s only fair if he’s the one who takes it, too.”

“Jack, you’re making a mistake.”

“You’re right. I should’ve ordered dinner, already. Get me my regular from Torchy’s.”

\---

When the wall opens, again, he hopes that it is Ramsey. Ramsey doesn’t care about him. Ramsey will treat him like the monster he is. Ramsey will give him something he’s used to- threats, consequence, loyalty to someone that isn’t him.

He needs that. He remembers Haywood’s life, but he remembers his own, too, and it’s _wrong_. Two contrasting lives are conflictions, and he can’t deal with it. He needs the familiarity of the Vagabond. He can’t handle Haywood. He needs Hydra, but Hydra threw him away. He needs the Vagabond, but he feels like he’s losing track of that, too. The Vagabond would never have let his target go.

He doesn’t even know who he is, anymore.

When it isn’t Ramsey, he lets himself slump. It’s a feeble movement, since he can’t really move much, but it gets his point across. He can only see a pair of sneakers. It isn’t the black metal boots that he was hoping for, and that crushes him more than it should.

“I still don’t blame you.” Jack, the Captain, whatever she is, says. She kneels down in front of him, like he didn’t strangle her the last time she did. She doesn’t even check his restraints. How is she so stupid? So naive? So trusting?

“You should.” He says, averting his eyes to the ground. She takes it as another strike against her and shakes her head.

“I don’t.” They slip into silence for a moment, before he forces himself to speak.

“They’re not coming back for me.” She doesn’t have to ask what he means.

“No. They’re not.”

“I don’t blame you for letting me fall.” He doesn’t explain himself. He just shuts his eyes and hangs his shoulders, defeated.

“What?”

“On the train. What I said in the hotel… I was trying to hurt you.” Why is he admitting this? Why is he telling her anything? He should be trying to hurt her. He shouldn’t be comforting her!

“What?” She asks, stunned by the sudden change. He can’t bear to look at her expression. Something in him- the Ryan part of him- doesn’t want her to watch him break down. He’d rather not witness the realization that that is, in fact, what she is seeing.

“Look, I don’t know who you are. I don’t even really know who the hell I am. Everything is just… wrong. Hydra’s not coming for me- and I don’t even know what’s left for me.” He’s begging for something, and he doesn’t even know what it is.

Two months. It only took two months for him to fall this far.

“Ryan?” She half-whispers. From her lips, the name sounds sacred. He doesn’t even want to hear it from his own.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so... I don’t know.”

She hugs him for a while and while he doesn’t sink into it, he doesn’t pull away, either.

\---

“Ryan’s back.”

\---

Nothing changes, but it feels like it does.

Everything feels clearer to him, like the fog has finally been lifted and he can see, again. He can remember the old days, without the pain of the wipes shielding the memories. He can remember the blurry days between those wipes, when the fog has only cleared, slightly. He can remember Lester’s experiments, when he was still more lab rat than soldier. He can remember moving his right arm for the first time in months, because that weirdly cold metal had finally reached the base. He can remember falling, and the agents, who found him in the snow.

Nothing changes, but he isn’t a thing, anymore. He may still feel like one, when he dwells on his current position, but it isn’t the same. At least in this room, there is Gavin, and Jack, and Ray. It’s people who treat him like a human.

And as much as he still wants Hydra to come back, he’s becoming increasingly comfortable here.

It feels wrong to think that way, after so many years in their custody. 70 years of obedience fights him, whenever he even considers any wrongdoing by his old captors.

He doesn’t like to dwell on it. It’s too confusing.

So Jack/the Captain/whatever-she-is offered her help. A debrief of his life to some random soldier, who had only ever known him as the Vagabond. It’s stupid, but if there’s a chance that the Captain lets him move for this test, it’s worth it. He’ll take it in stride.

“How old do you think you are?” The winged one- Caleb, the Captain had called her- asks.

“My 90’s, probably.”

“And physically?” She presses. He just shrugs. With all the sessions in cryo, he has absolutely no idea.

“Where are you from?”

“Siberia.”

“No, Ryan. Where was Ryan born?” It feels like she is pulling teeth, and he wants to laugh at it all. He doesn’t, though. He has laughed during psychological tests before and it didn’t end well. These people may pretend they’re different, but he doesn’t know yet. He probably won’t know, until his face is removed from the floor.

“America.” He sounds unsure.

“Where in America?” She’s starting to get irritated, and he can hear the Captain chuckle in the background.

“I don’t know.” The chuckling stops.

“You’re from Georgia.” Jack informs him, with too much disappointment.

“Georgia.” He repeats, without looking at her. He doesn’t like the interruption. This is supposed to be a test of his memory. This is supposed to help him. She shouldn’t be answering for him.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m not sure, yet.” This test isn’t going well.

“What _was_ your name?”

“Ryan Haywood.” It’s a stupid question. He has heard that name enough that he couldn’t forget it if he tried.

“How did you end up as this?” Caleb says it awkwardly, as she waves her arm to gesture to him.

“I fell off a train and Hydra found me. They fixed my arm,” he shakes his metal hand and Caleb nods. The Captain winces. “And they made me a warrior.”

“How long did that take?” The winged one asks.

He shrugs. There were too many wipes, when they were still trying to shape him into the mercenary that they needed. His entire tenure as the Vagabond is still too blurry to declare anything related to a time period.

“Who did you work for?”

“When?”

“As a mercenary.” They never call him ‘The Vagabond’, and he can’t help but wonder why. It’s not like it’ll change anything.

“Lester for a while. Then Percival, though he didn’t last very long. Edgar was probably the longest. Reggie for all of a minute.”

“What did they have you do?”

“What do you think?” He snaps. He doesn’t need to answer stupid questions, here. Every single person that he’s seen in decades knows exactly what he does. He’s a mercenary. It isn’t too hard to put together.

“Did they ever tell you why?”

When he doesn’t answer, Caleb just moves on.

“What happened if you weren’t able to finish a job?”

“I think I’m done answering questions.” He states, bluntly. The Captain takes a step forward to try to comfort him, but he just pushes himself further against the wall. He doesn’t want to talk to her. He doesn’t want to talk to Caleb. They said it was voluntary, and he’s done volunteering.

He’s confused and they said this would make it better, but it didn’t. It’s just fogging up his mind more, as he worries about dates, and owners, and jobs. He doesn’t even know his own name, and they’re still asking him about how they treated him.

“Ryan, it could help you.” He doesn’t answer, and eventually the two soldiers leave.

\---

“This is working out so well for you, huh?”

“It’s only been three months, Geoff. You can’t discount him, yet.”

“He’s a fucking mercenary! I’m telling you, he’s pulling the sheet right over your eyes and you’re just letting him do it!”

“He’s not lying. You should’ve seen him today. He’s starting to come to terms with what they’ve done to him.”

“I did see. He looked like he was playing you like a fucking drum.”

\---

It all still feels misplaced. Like everything shifted slightly left, when he fell, and now it is slowly falling back into place. He feels more solid. He feels like a person, instead of a machine and it’s making him realize things that he never would have, otherwise.

His muscles aren’t breaking down. He hasn’t moved in months, apparently, but he still feels fine. He doesn’t feel weak at all. If he was allowed to move, he could run a marathon, without being tired. He had managed to choke a super soldier, after being chained down for days or even weeks. That shouldn’t even be possible.

He doesn’t eat or drink as much, either. Whenever Jack or Gavin walks in and asks if he needs food, his stomach is never growling. His mouth is never dry, despite the fact that he hasn't swallowed water in months. Everything comes through the IV, and that shouldn't be enough to substation him.

It's odd to think about, but he doesn't mind it too much. It's an advantage- a strength. The others are weak that they have to eat and drink every day. He is perfectly fine. Superhuman, practically.

Actually, that is a fitting description. He heals quickly, compared to the Hydra mercenaries, who stay out for weeks to heal a broken bone. For him, it only lasts a week, maybe two. They all need far more sleep than he ever did. Even the trained guards, who watched him, would often fall asleep hours before he needed to.

They were weak. Hydra was weak.

Are these people strong?

\---

“You need to give him a chance.”

“I did. He hurt you.”

“You hurt him, too, remember? Don't play innocent, here.”

“Do what you want. I'm not helping. I'm not going to stay here to watch you die, Jack.”

“That's exactly why I’m doing this. I'm not going to stay here to watch him die. I'm going to help him, so that those assholes don't get the chance to get him back.”

“They won't hurt him, anyway. He's their secret weapon.”

“They won't kill him, but you saw him. You saw how we was with that Reggie guy and you saw him yesterday. I don't think they were being all too kind to him.”

“That's his problem.”

“Geoff!”

“Don't get yourself killed, Jack. Please.”

“You'd rather him die, instead?”

“Yes!”

\---

It’s been four months, since he killed Burns. Four months, since he forced Captain America to dance, by shooting at her feet. Four months, since that first fight. Four months, since Hydra rose and promptly fell. Three months, since they caught him.

Three months ago, he was completely free. He could sleep wherever he wanted. He could eat whatever he wanted. He could do anything. If he had only kept moving, he could have made it out. If he had only remained a vagabond, he might not have ended up here. But he made a mistake, and now he’s paying the price.

“Hydra’s gone.” Jack tells him, watching him carefully for any sort of reaction. If she is expecting one, she doesn’t get it.

“Cut off one head…” He cuts himself off, but she gets the message. Hydra doesn’t just die. They just take a step back and regroup.  No doubt, that’s what they’re doing, now.

“For now.” She amends, coming to the same conclusion that he did. She just doesn’t realize the consequences of it.

“The last time they were gone, they made me-”

“They didn’t make you. They just-” She pauses, searching for the word. “Changed you.”

“Yeah, big difference.” He doesn’t bother to finish his earlier statement. If she’s smart, and he thinks she is, she can figure it out on her own.

“Do you want to go back?” Jack asks, calmly. She is watching him, like a hawk, and he knows that this is important. He knows that he should say no. If he ever wants to be free, he needs to say no.

He has never been one for doing the smart thing.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” She pushes, trying to get more out of him. He shouldn’t give into her, but he doesn’t care. Things have changed. He can say what he wants. No one can stop him, anymore.

“I’m supposed to say yes. I’m supposed to go back, every time. They’ve _owned_ me for 70 years,” Jack flinches at his word choice. He doesn’t really care. That’s the word that they taught him to use, and he’s going to use it. “I’m supposed to want to go back.”

“But you don’t want to?” Her voice is soft, again. It’s like he’s back on the ship. He’s still pinned down, he’s still scared, and she is still above him in more ways than one.

“I don’t want to, but I feel like I should.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s hard, I know. You’ll get there, Ry. I know you will.”

“Get where?”

“It’s your choice. No one’s going to force you into anything.” She doesn’t answer his question, and he doesn’t appreciate it.

He rattles his chains in lieu of a response. She can tell him anything she wants, but she can’t just pretend like they don’t already have his decision planned out for him. It’s either conform to their expectations or rot away in a cell.

If he hadn’t visited that museum, it might have been a question. 

\---

“I want to lessen his restraints.”

“No.”

“He’s not going to progress if we don’t show him what he’s working towards!”

“I think he can progress on his own.”

“Geoff, don’t be a dick.”

“Tell that to Meg.”

\---

His legs feel heavier than his arm. That’s all he can think, when Jack and a silently fuming Ramsey release the clasps around his ankles. He doesn’t have much room to shift, and struggles for a moment, before simply stretching out his legs and falling limp. It isn’t quite the freedom that he wanted, but it feels too good to complain about.

It seems like Jack takes pity on him, because she forces the metal man to unlock the collar and even the cuffs around his elbows. Ramsey complains, but reluctantly follows her orders. It’s clear to see who is in control, here.

He tries to move, until he can sit upright, but it is difficult when he hasn’t moved in months. His muscles feel overwhelmingly sore from moving his legs, alone. He tries to push through it, but his limbs lock, whenever he moves more than an inch.

Maybe after a month, he could have been fine. After two, he’s a lost cause.

Jack, as always, is quick to be the helping hand. She grabs him by his shoulders and shifts him, gently, until his back is pressed against the wall. Ramsey keeps a close eye on him, ready to launch if he makes any sudden movements.

He doesn’t. He rests his back against the wall and breaths out a long sigh of relief. It hurts to move, after so long, but it’s a good pain. It’s like lying down, after a long day of work. It’s the pain of bones slowly beginning to settle into a new position.

It’s a fraction of the freedom that he longs for, but it’s enough. If they give him anymore, he has a feeling that he’ll be overwhelmed with it. For now, he’s happy with this. He has a feeling that Jack is, too.

“We can put them back on in a second.” Ramsey warns. He is scowling and there is no doubt that he believes that those shackles should never have been removed.

It doesn’t matter. Ramsey isn’t the one with power over him. It is clear who that is in this case.

He could kill them, now. He could build up strength and he could kill them both. His legs are as much a weapon as his arms and his guns. He could kill them and he could steal their keys and break free. He could fashion a new mask, and he doesn’t even have to go back to Hydra- doesn’t think he wants to. He is known in enough circles. A flash of the mask would get him millions, and he could live in freedom. No shackles, no walls, and no cryo, either. He could be free.

“I’m not gonna hurt any of you.” He promises. He isn’t lying.

“You better not.” It sounds more like a threat than a warning, but he doesn’t care. Ramsey might have been able to take him down, when he was the Vagabond. He could hurt him, while he was ignorant. He wouldn’t succeed, now. There are too many new factors at play.

Because while he may look weaker, he feels stronger. He knows things, now. He has memories of lessons learned from a life that had evaded him for so long. He might have something to lie for, now. That chance for freedom is too rewarding a prize. He won’t let a metal man take it from him. He can threaten all he wants. Freedom is coming, and he will take it.

“Why’d you let me out?” He doesn’t address the question to Ramsey. Instead, he faces Jack, knowing that it would be a smack in the face to the enraged man. Ramsey tenses, and it is proof that the jab worked.

“I trust you.” She says, simply. It’s answer enough.

They leave, eventually, and he is left to stare at the wall, again. He’s still chained, and his ankles are raw and reddened, but it doesn’t matter.

He’s free.

It won’t last long; he knows that much. This is more than just an act of kindness and he thinks that Jack knows that, too. This is protection for themselves and for their captive. He doesn’t know if Ramsey realizes it, but the others are smart. If they have an inkling of intelligence, they should realize this, too.

If Hydra is truly dying, they will want their weapon back. He’s single-handedly raised them from obscurity, before, and they will want him to do it, again. They’ll wipe his mind and he’ll be the same murderous tool that he always is in their hands. They can get Reggie And Nutt back. They can get S.H.I.E.L.D. back. They can have him kill everyone here, and he won’t even know that they mattered to him.

Even if he is replaceable, the fact that they have never done it is proof that they are, at least, comfortable with him. He is compatable with their technology. Hell, he is the basis for it all! If Hydra is failing, they will want their secret weapon, back.

There is a nice project with his name on it and if nothing is done, he’ll be back there.

If they put in the effort to find him in that valley, they will put in the effort, here. Maybe earlier they were distracted. Maybe they were still being beaten back by his captors. Maybe they were looking, but couldn’t find him. It doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t know when he realized this, but he knows that it’s right. Every time Hydra has a head cut off, the new ones make haste to use him. It’s like a warning from the higher ups, showing the subordinates the power that they wield. These new, diminished heads will be looking for a threat to hold over the heads of their enemies. They will be looking for him.

And he doesn’t want to go back. He wants to be free.

\---

“What’s wrong with you?”

“What?”

“You were practically at his throat the whole time.”

“Maybe because he’s lying to you!”

“I think I’d know if my best friend was lying to me.”

“He’s not your friend, Jack. He’s made that very clear. He’s not Ryan Haywood, anymore!”

“He’s getting there.”

“You’re just looking for what you want to see.”

“And I’m seeing it. Ryan’s in there. If you gave him half a chance, you would see that.”

“I did. I didn’t see it.”

\---

“-and when I shot the bramble arrow into an Enderman’s neck! He went all goo-ey and melted into a pile of this black goo. We went back and I bet Michael ten bucks that he wouldn’t drink it. I almost damn threw up, when he did!” Gavin is far too invested in telling his entire life story, and it’s almost funny. By the time he reaches the Battle of Austin, he waves his hand with every little bit of emphasis and mimes shooting an arrow at the mention of it. It’s ridiculously stupid, but it’s funny, regardless.

It’s weird to hear the story being told like that. For them, it must have been fun. They were there- helping people, saving the world. They were being heroes, while he was sitting through another round of cryo. Dead to the world, during the only alien attack that he’s ever heard of. He wonders if they would have fought alongside him, if they had known him then.

No, they wouldn’t have. Hydra wouldn’t have allowed him to interact with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. This imprisonment is proof enough that he is easily manipulatable. They wouldn’t have risked his corruption.

Well fuck them. He’s corrupted and he isn’t going back. Maybe they kept him away, then, but he’s done. He’s not going back to the punishment and the murders and the tests. He is staying here, thank you very much. At least these guys haven’t made him kill his allies, yet.

“So, wait-” He says, tilting his head and scrunching his eyebrows. He locks eyes with the archer, who is plopped down across the room from him, and squints. “You were in a group of literal superheroes-”

“Yep!” Gavin interrupts, cheerfully.

“With no powers-”

“Nope!”

“And a bow-”

“It’s great!”

“And you fought aliens.”

“Yeah, that sums it up well!”

“You’re an orphan raised by carnies fighting with a stick and a string from the Paleolithchic Era?” He says, dumbfounded. This kid is getting weirder by the second.

“Paleolithchic?” Gavin repeats, with a laugh. It’s annoying- most people wouldn’t laugh at the Vagabond for a flub, but he finds himself smirking along with the archer. He realizes with a start that that might be the first time that he’s really smiled in decades. Usually, it’s just a cruel grin to hurt someone or intimidate them. This is real, and he finds that he likes the feeling.

“Paleolithic, shut up.” He groans, but the archer keeps laughing.

He keeps smiling, too. He likes this kid.

“‘Oh, I’m the Vagabond and I’m so scary- I can’t pronounce words.’” Gavin mocks. With anyone else, he might be offended, but the man is too ridiculous to be truly angry at. It’s especially when the archer has the soles of their feet pressed against each other, making the situation all the more ridiculous.

“‘Oh, I’m Hawkeye, and I’m so cool- my sidekick is named Hawkeye, too!’” He retorts, grinning like a madman as Gavin guffaws.

“Hey! Partner! She’s my partner!” Gavin exclaims, acting offended, but laughing through his words.

“Sure, she is. And if you flip a coin three times…”

“It’s 50/50!”

And even though he was the one who brought it up, he can’t help but groan at the thought of that conversation continuing.

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“You said it’s ⅛, you meaty sausage!”

It’s going to be a long night.

\---

“You’re staying tonight, Gavin?”

“Yeah. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on the tosser.”

“Just make sure he’s comfortable.”

“Will do, Jack! He’s my coin buddy!”

“I don’t want to know what that means.”

\---

He doesn’t sleep, much. The lights in the room are constantly on. While he is used to it, it doesn’t make it too easy to sleep. He can live without it, anyway. In the less foggy memories, when he still called himself ‘Ryan Haywood’, he would sometimes go days without sleep. He can’t remember if it started after his initial capture, but he knows that Jack commented on it a few times. Too  many nightmares led to too little rest. He’s fine with it- he really is. He didn't sleep much as the Vagabond, either.

He stares at his boots, trying to shake his foot free of his shoes. There isn’t any real reason for it. It’s just entertainment in a boring world.

He is tempted to shift, so that he can lie down, but he doesn’t bother with it. It’s too much of a hassle to move, like this. His fleshy wrist is already an angry shade of red from the handcuffs, and he doesn’t want to aggravate it more. He’s fine resting against the wall, if he ever manages to fall asleep.

He doesn’t even know what time it is, but since Gavin left, he can assume that it’s night. They usually don’t stay past one in the morning, according to Jack. Apparently the “Hunters” need to be ready for any spontaneous attack in the morning, and need all the rest they can get. There has been a few times that they leave in the middle of a discussion. A hit to be done, he always assumes.

He doesn’t mind, too much. He’s used to silence.

He jerks forward, rubbing his tormented wrist, when the wall begins to move. He wonders if he nodded off, at some point, because Gavin had not left too long ago. They usually don’t come back for hours, once one of them leaves.

There are three new voices in the other room, and he wonders if one of them is the Michael that he has heard Gavin discuss. He briefly questions if one could be Lindsay, but dismisses the thought, when he does not hear a single female voice within the group. Maybe one of them is that Iron Patriot guy that Jack sometimes mentions. Is he a friend of hers? They’re both supposed to be very red, white, and blue. It only makes sense.

When the wall has barely moved more than an inch, the three strangers are already squeezing their way into the room. When he sees the symbol embroidered on one of the sleeves, he pushes himself against the wall as far as he can go.

When the three of them have crossed into his space (and it’s his, it’s his, they shouldn’t be here!) two of them cross onto either side of him and calmly await their orders. They stand like soldiers, and he hasn’t seen that stance in months. There are guns at their sides, knives on their belts. He hopes that they didn’t find Gavin or Jack, before they found him.

Then again, it’s Hydra. They’ll leave Jack and Gavin for him.

“Vagabond,” The leader greets, smirking down at the captive. One of his hands rests on his gun. He glances at the two soldiers and gestures to him. “Well? Get him out of those restraints. Our asset shouldn’t be chained down, like this, should he?”

The two soldiers drop down to his level. His heart sinks, when he realizes that they have the keys. Maybe they did hurt them. There isn’t really another way that they could’ve gotten hold of it.

He hasn’t even moved, since the three of them walked in. He thinks that he hasn’t breathed, either. His heart is beating too quickly, his lungs are screaming, and he doesn’t want to go back. He likes it, here. He likes it, with Gavin and his stupidly ridiculous conversations. With Ray and his heavy sarcasm. With Jack and her motherly softness. He doesn’t want to go.

“You know me, right, Vagabond?” The leader asks, while the two agents are fiddling with his wrists. He doesn’t respond, still too wrapped up in his own self-pity. “General Ian Biscuit. I used to work directly under the previous commander. Do you know what that means?”

He still doesn’t respond. One of the soldiers frees his left arm and it hurts when they move it away. The wrist is raw and bloody, and he realizes that he hasn’t seen it in months.

He stares at it too long, because he isn’t even done thinking, before his head is forced to the side and there is a stinging pain on the right side of his face. A slap. He hasn’t been slapped in a while.

“I said ‘do you know what that means?’” Biscuit demands. He stares at the man’s outstretched hand for a moment, before his mind clouds over, again.

“You’re my new commander.” The Vagabond answers, eyeing the ground instead of Biscuit.

“‘Owner’ would be the word. You’d best remember it.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is flat, and he feels like he has fallen back into six months ago, when all he was was the Vagabond and Sergeant Ryan Haywood was just a dead man from a not-so distant past

His metal arm is freed, and the two soldiers haul him to his feet. For a moment, his vision blurs as all the blood in his head rushes towards his legs, but soon enough, his vision settles and Hydra is leading him back into the life that he thought he was done living.

At least, he'll have his mask back, soon. He can almost pretend that he wants it.

“Get him down the stairs. I don’t care if you have to carry him out. Just get it done. And keep your weapons ready. I’ve gotten a few reports that the asset may be compromised.” Biscuit orders, like the Vagabond isn’t even there.

There is a chorus of “Yes, sirs!”, before the two begin to lead him forward.

They lead him past the walls and through the doors, before his brain finally collapses. He hasn’t left that room in months. He hasn’t breathed fresh air, hasn’t seen anything beyond metal walls, or felt anything, but metal and leather.

Now, he sees the black leather couch, the flat screen TV, the blackened windows, the wall that just seems to be different screens showing footage from his metal room, and the bags of saline and nutrients that seem to litter the space. It’s overwhelming, and there’s too much color, too much smell, and far too much to see.

It feels wrong to think that it’s Hydra that’s freeing him.

They’re going to wipe his mind, again. They’re going to put him through cryo, and punishment, and missions, and debriefing, and hits, and he doesn’t want to! He thought he was done with it, and he doesn’t want to go back! He’s not going to know what happened, here. He’s never going to know.

He feels sick, but the soldiers keep pushing him forward. He is a tool. There is no need to care for the feelings of a tool. They just need to keep him moving. They need to bring him back. Don’t have to worry about damaging him. Just move him and they can fix it, later. He’s not a person to Hydra. He’s a person to the Hunters, and he doesn’t want to go.

He stops for a moment, but within an instant, there are two guns pressed against his back. He keeps moving.

“What do we do about Hawkeye?” One of the agents asks. The Vagabond can feel his heart sink impossibly further.

“Leave him. The asset will come back for him, later.”

He was right. He was right. They’re going to make him hurt them. He was right and he hates himself for it.

Biscuit notices his reaction, and his captive watches as the man takes it in. It doesn’t take more than a moment for him to hold out his hand to signal the soldiers to stop. They do, still keeping their guns to their prisoner’s back, and he can’t breathe! He knows what they’re going to do and he can’t. He can’t- he can’t- he can’t!

“You don’t seem very happy with that, do you?” Biscuit asks. He only responds, when he feels that the slap is about to come.

“I don’t care, sir.” He lies, through clenched teeth.

“Then how about you do it, now?”

Biscuit grabs hold of the collar of his jacket, dragging him away from the two soldiers. The leader forces him forward, finally pushing him onto a blanket that seems like it was hastily thrown over- and oh.

He reaches down, trying to hide his grimace as he grabs hold of the blanket. He doesn’t hesitate much, before he rips the blanket off of a very bound and very conscious Gavin Free. The archer is screaming, through the gag in his mouth, and when he locks eyes with the Vagabond, the screaming only gets louder. He tries to push back, but the knots around his wrists and ankles keep him locked into place.

A sick part of his mind says that it’s only justice. He had been reverse-hog tied for months. Gavin let that happen. He deserves this.

The sane part of him shoves that thought away, and remembers that Gavin was the first one who really talked to him like a person. Jack was always too soft, Ramsey always hated him, and Meg was too snarky to be friendly. Gavin, though- Gavin always treated him like a human being. They could have conversations, tell jokes, or argue over a fucking coin flip. It wasn’t Hydra this, Vagabond that, I’ve murdered over 500 people this. Gavin could have stupid conversations with him and Gavin could make him smile like he was still Ryan Haywood.

He doesn’t want to kill Gavin. Come to think of it, he doesn’t want to kill any of them.

“Gun?” He requests, after a long moment of silence, as he takes in the struggling picture of the usually-eccentric archer.

“I’d rather you use your hands.” It’s an order, and the Vagabond swallows, before he kneels down in front of the screaming man.

He rests one hand against the rope on his wrists, locking him into place, while the intrigued soldiers watch. It's a reward for them- to see the Vagabond kill. His metal hand rests against Gavin’s throat, fingers flexing as he forces them into place against Gavin’s windpipe. A tiny bit of pressure could kill him. One move, and Hawkeye is dead. The orphan, raised by carnies, who fights with a stick and a string from the Paleolithchic Era, will be gone.

Gavin stops moving- stops breathing. His eyes- greener than any pastures that the Vagabond has ever seen- start to water. His hands are shaking and they won’t stop. The Vagabond stares into those green eyes, feels the trembling limbs. Instead of reacting to it, he tightens his grip and _pulls_.

The rope comes off clean from Gavin’s wrists, and the Vagabond is on his feet in an instant. As Gavin is ripping the gag out of his mouth, the former-mercenary is moving, like he had not spent a moment away from his work.

He grabs hold of the first soldier’s gun arm, and tugs him forward, until the soldier’s back is pressed against the former mercenary’s chest. Within moments, there is gunfire, but the soldier takes the brunt of the hits, while the not-Vagabond rips the gun out of his hand. He keeps hold of the agent, using him as a temporary shield, as he takes aim and fires at the second soldier. It’s an efficient kill, and he only has to use one bullet to finish the man.

Biscuit is the last one, but the General is still taking aim, when a single bullet catches him in the stomach. The man hits the ground _hard_ , screaming and cursing and ruining his would-be stealth mission, because he probably woke everyone in the vicinity.

He drops his meat shield, without a care, and approaches the injured man. Biscuit tries to lift his gun, but the move is too slow. A heavy boot stomps down on his wrist, giving off just enough to break the bone. A new volley of screams rips its way out of the probably-dying man, and he can’t help but revel in the sound.

He kneels down, keeping his foot pressed against the ruined hand, and lets his other foot press down against the bullet wound. Biscuit tries to scream, but there is a hand over his mouth, too quickly.

“I’m not the asset, here.” He mumbles, as he shifts his hand around the man’s throat.

One more.

He moves, and within seconds, the man is choking on his own blood. Gavin doesn’t even have the gag off, before the attack is over.

He wipes his shoe on Biscuit’s shirt, before approaching Gavin and crouching down next to the man. The archer flinches, but he pays it no mind. He focuses on the gag in his mouth, and it only takes a few seconds to get it out. Gavin is talking the moment that it’s gone.

“Bloody hell! That was-” He cuts himself off, staring at his former captive, like he’s seeing something new. He probably is. A lot has happened in the past five minutes, and both of their hearts are racing like drums.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.” He says, simply. Gavin nods his head, like a maniac.

“You’re a damn hero! I’m not gonna chastise you for it! Jesus, that was ridiculous. You got that done in like 15 seconds!”

“It’s my job.” Was his job, but  he’s too overwhelmed to even think about that.

“Your job was to be a bad guy. You’re being the good guy, now! You’re like a damn Hunter! You saved my life!”

“I don’t want to go back.”

He’s still in Vagabond mode, even as he is untying the restraints on his former enemy’s legs. Everything feels simple, when everything should be so complex that it hurts. Maybe everything is simple, so that it doesn’t hurt. Keep it simple, and it won’t hurt. That’s good. He should do that.

“You don't have to. We didn't know it was coming. Jesus, that’s an understatement but we’ll be on the lookout, now. We're gonna keep you safe, alright? You don't need to worry about a thing!” Gavin promises. It's reassuring to hear, but he doesn't know if he believes it. He thought that, earlier, but now he's been proven wrong.

“It's not going to be this easy, next time. They're gonna keep me chained up.”

“We’ll be there. I promise.” He's going to hold him to that, and Gavin knows it.

“I killed my owner.”

“Handler.” Gavin corrects. He just nods, too spaced out to respond.

“They're going to find me, and they're going to-” He pauses, can't continue. “I don't want to go back.” And he's being too simple in his phrasing, and even Gavin can see that.

“Are you alright?” The archer asks, concern blossoming across his expression. Gavin shouldn't be worried for him, right now. He should be taking care of himself, because Hydra got the jump on him and probably hurt him and he needs to take care of himself. He shouldn't care about the former mercenary. He needs to care about himself, and why does he care about _him_?

“I'm fine.” He says. Gavin tilts his head- not believing him.

“You chose us, didn't you? You gave up on Hydra, even though they came back for you.” The archer states, softly.

“Yeah.” He feels like he’s about to break down, and it takes everything in him not to fall to the floor or cry into Gavin’s shoulder.

“You're a mong.” Gavin states, but there's something happy in his voice, so it’s good.

There are arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he doesn't sink into them, but he doesn't pull away. He just stares at the wall- green and not the silver that he’s used to. It's all overwhelming, but there are two arms that seem to ground him.

“Should I go back to the room?” He asks, eventually. Gavin pulls away, immediately, as if the question physically hurt him.

“God, no! We’re not gonna lock you up, anymore, I swear. I’ll fight Geoff, if he tries. You're never going back in there, again!”

“Oh.” He states, dumbfounded by the pure emotion in the reaction. That was stronger than he expected.

“I swear it!” He repeats, like that should make him feel better. He does. “I'm gonna call them, right now. Jack will support you, too, when I tell her what happened.”

“Thanks.” He is too stunned to say anything more, but the statement itself is genuine. Gavin nods, viciously, and sprints to where his rectangular communicator fell to the ground.

It takes only three minutes for Jack and Ramsey to get there, and it's hard to recognize Ramsey, when he does. He isn't in his suit, and is simply wearing pajamas that seem like he hastily threw them on. His hair looks to be in disarray and his mustache (and that is an unexpected feature) is heavily askew and droopy. It's not the Ramsey that the former mercenary expected- hell, he thought that the man was made of metal- but it will do.

“You saved Gavin?” Ramsey asks, eventually, breaking the silence that had been haunting them for minutes.

He nods and can't say a word, before he is pulled into a firm hug by the man who had hated him so clearly for so long. The man drops his head on his shoulder, and he can hear a whispered “Thank you”, and he feels sick, because he never expected this from Ramsey. Ramsey hurts him. Ramsey doesn't appreciate him. Ramsey hates him. This feels wrong.

Jack hugs him, too, but that feels familiar. He liked hugging Jack, way back when. She's firm, but soft and she’s rough, but caring. And she does care. She doesn't have to whisper “thank you”, because he chose them, or because he helped Gavin. She doesn't have to say anything, because she just hugs him, like she's welcoming an old friend. She is.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know they were coming. I would’ve stayed. I’m sorry, I really am, Ry-” She cuts herself off, before she can finish the name, and quickly jumps into an apology for using it. He stops her, though by dropping his head into her shoulder. He doesn’t care, anymore. Everything is too much, and too fast, and he just wants it to be over. She freezes, like moving an inch would send him back into his shell.

It won't. For once, he thinks, that thinks might finally be changing.

“You can call me that, if you want.” He says, into her shirt.

“What?” She asks, pulling away like he burned her. He wants to shut his mouth because it's hard. He doesn't want to hurt her, if he has to go back on this. It's hard to be the person that he hasn't been in 70 years, but he’ll try. It's all that he really has left.

“You can call me Ryan.” He mutters.

She pulls him back into the hug and Ryan sinks into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact- The dialogue segments were 100% inspired by Ender's Game.


	9. One More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact- There is no fun at this point. Or facts. Ryan's head is kind of a mess.

“So, tell me what happened.” Ramsey states, once the relief has died down, and the fear is starting to crawl its way into Ryan’s chest, again. 

They’ve all watched the footage, and Ryan was as stone faced as ever, when they told him to kill Gavin. For a second, when he watches himself wrap his fingers around Gavin’s throat, he wonders if he’ll do it. He feels stupid, afterwards, but he is still dumbstruck by the attack.

He had expected them to come, yes, but not so soon. How desperate are they?

Desperate, clearly, if they sent their leader to come claim him. They’re going to try, again, and they aren’t going to be so careless about it.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Start from the beginning, genius.” Ramsey rolls his eyes, and it feels like they’ve taken one step forward and two steps back. Within moments, he is back to glaring at the former mercenary and studying him, like he is waiting for a move to be made.

“Which beginning?” Because there are three, aren’t there? The beginning of Ryan, the beginning of the Vagabond, and the beginning of the weird mix that stands before them, today.

“When that Ian guy walked in.” Oh, so he’s asking for the fourth beginning.

“There’s not really anything you haven’t seen.” He glances around the room and relaxes when he sees Jack and Gavin talking to Ray, only a few feet away. They’re probably briefing him on the situation. Hopefully, Ray can be of use, here.

“Why did you go with him? If you were planning to kill him, why didn’t you just do it?” Ramsey is starting to sound annoyed.

“I didn’t  _ plan  _ to do anything.” Ryan says, locking eyes with the other man. 

“What? You were just gonna let them take you?” He sounds stunned and Ryan doesn’t know why. Is that even in question, here?

“Yes.”

“Jack said you didn't want to go.”

“I don't. There just isn't a choice.”

“I'm pretty sure you had a choice. It's calling fighting back.” And he says it so simply, like he actually knows what he's talking about. It's kinda funny. He doesn't laugh.

“No, it's not. It's called getting myself killed.”

“They wouldn't kill you. They need you.” Ramsey rolls his eyes.

“They need my body- not me.” Ryan states, blinking away the glaze that is settling over his eyes.

“What? What does that- What does that even mean?” He sounds genuinely perplexed, and of course he does. Ryan shouldn’t have mentioned that. That was stupid. Now, they’re going to ask more, and he doesn’t want to answer.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ramsey looks like he’s about to ram his head into a wall, and Ryan wouldn’t blame him. He wants to do it, too. “You know we’re not your enemy, right? For fucksake, we’re trying to help you! If you need help, we’ll help you, but you need to ask, first. You helped Gavin. I’m indebted to you, dude. Just let me help you!”

It feels wrong to even think about discussing it, but it has to happen. He doesn’t know what Ramsey will do, if he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if the man will care, at all, but he doesn’t want to risk it. If he doesn’t answer, they might send him back. If he doesn’t answer, they probably will. He needs to humor them, until he’s ready to go. He needs to be obedient, until he can run and hide in peace.

If he wants to be free, he needs to humor them. It’s simple. If he listens, they won’t get rid of him.

“They like to wipe my mind.” He says, simply.

“What?”

“It helps to prep me for cryo and it keeps me from fighting back. Makes me a clean slate.” The frown on his face makes him feel numb, and he finds that he prefers it that way. It's familiar.

“And you don’t fight that?”

“No,” and as an afterthought, “It hurts.”

“They wipe your mind and you don’t fight it?” He sounds confused and appalled, and Ryan doesn’t understand why. “I broke your legs and you didn’t care. How much does that shit hurt?”

“A lot.” He wants to end it at that, but Ramsey keeps going.

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” His voice cracks. “You didn’t think this was important? Jack was wondering why you forgot her- we kind of thought, but holy shit. Holy shit!”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“You had your mind wiped!” Ramsey screams, like that explains why he’s acting like a madman.

Gavin and Jack seem to have noticed the commotion, because the two are already walking to them. Ryan doesn’t want to talk to them, but Ramsey is going to. Ramsey is going to explain, and he’s made a mistake, hasn’t he? He shouldn’t have said anything. They’re going to send him back, because they wanted Ryan Haywood, and he’s just a man with a jumbled mind. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just pretended to be the Haywood that they knew and that would have been the end of it. He’s screwed.

“What happened?” Jack asks, eyes on Ramsey and not the former Vagabond.

Ryan’s frown is heavy, his eyes are glazed, he hasn’t moved in minutes, and it seems that Ramsey is just now noticing. His head hurts, again, like the very thought of the wipes sparks the pain, again. He shouldn’t think about them. He shouldn’t talk about. He made a mistake.

“Are you okay?” Ramsey asks. Ryan jerks through a nod, and the other two finally seem to notice his discomfort.

Jack moves, and Ryan doesn’t flinch, even though he knows that the hit is coming. It’s always coming. When he gets too far in his own head, there is always a hit that takes him right out of it. It's coming, because Jack takes a step towards him, and Gavin and Geoff are watching him, like the scientists do. Morbid curiosity. They want to see what it takes to make a weapon fire- to make an asset listen.

The hit doesn't come. Instead, there is a hand that grabs onto his shoulder and squeezes. It’s surprising and somehow more terrifying than an actual blow. It's enough to draw him back into reality, where Hydra is dying, there are no more hits coming, and everyone around him is a friend. He doesn't remember this reality.

“You alright, Ry-Ry?” Her voice is soft, and this time he appreciates it.

“I'm fine.” He is tempted to brush her arm off of his shoulder, but he doesn't bother. It grounds him in this reality and he wants to stay this time.

“What happened?”

“My hand slipped.” He doesn't know why he says it, but it slips off of his tongue, before he's even aware that he's talking.

“What?” It's Jack to asks it, but Gavin and Ramsey echo the sentiment. Ryan shuts his eyes.

“On the train. I couldn't lift my right hand and my left couldn't hold on forever.” She seems confused, so he continues. He doesn't mind. “You hit me, remember? Weeks ago. It was supposed to be friendly, but you didn't know your own strength, yet. I think you dislocated it.”

“I made you fall?” She still sounds like she doesn't understand.

“No. My arm made me fall. It should have healed, already. I was weak. I fell and they made me strong.”

“How'd they go about that?” It's Gavin,  who asks it. The archer slings his bow onto his shoulder- too focused on the conversation to pick at it.

“Lester drugged me, when he got my regime, the-” He falters for a moment, but Jack is quick to jump in.

“107th. You were part of the 107th.” There's a pain in her face, but he doesn't understand why. It's supposed to be important- he knows that, but he can't remember why.

“Yeah, you remember that. That was my first wipe. He drugged me and wiped me clean. I couldn't remember much, by the end of it.”

“That's where it started?” Ramsey asks. “I read your file, but I didn't think-” He cuts himself off and stares at his shoes.

“Yes. Jack found me and we escaped, but the drug stayed. I think it helped me survive the fall, but I don’t know. Maybe it was the snow.”

“And after that?”

“There were soldiers who found me. I don't remember it well. My arm was gone from here to here.” He gestures from the tips of his fingers to his elbow. “They dragged me off, I woke up with a new arm, and they started working on the wipes. It started to work better, and they started training me. My first few missions were a few weeks after the war ended, I think.” He's being brief- he knows that- but it's enough. It's all he remembers, anyway. The years in the beginning are still foggy, with too many wipes in too short a time. It's a miracle that he can remember anything, at all.

“What did you do? For that mission.” Jack asks.

He doesn't answer.

The sound of breaking glass becomes his savior. Three pairs of eyes swing towards the window, and Ryan is left to let out a relieved sigh. He turns his attention to the pole of shattered glass on the ground, and the figure standing in the middle. A sword rested against his shoulder, a bear pelt over his hair, and face paint decorating his face.

This isn't good. He racks his brain for information about the man, and only manages to remember the file that Edgar had given him, when Mogar first appeared on their planet.

_ Michael Jones: AKA Mogar _

_ Latest Known Location- Achievement City _

_ Age- Unknown _

_ Weapon- Sword _

_ Powers- Flight, Super Strength, Intergalactic Travel _

_ Notes- Sword cannot be lifted by a human (TEST WITH ASSET) _

_ Status- Threat _

Dangerous. That’s what he is. He isn’t a target because of politics, like most of the hits were. It isn’t because he had even slighted Hydra, at all. He is a target because he’s dangerous. If the Vagabond managed to kill Jack, Mogar would probably have been the next hit.

“So what’d I miss?” Mogar asks, with a voice that Ryan recognizes from seven different audio recordings. He usually doesn’t sound this relaxed.

“Michael!” Gavin shrieks, greeting the other man with open arms. Mogar ignores the gesture, instead turning his eyes to Ryan. His eyes narrow and he steels his jaw.

“How did he get out?” The warrior asks. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his blade.

Gavin is the one to brief the man, while Ryan reaches for his knife. His fingers clench around empty air and it takes him a moment to remember why.

When Gavin is done with his explanation, the alien turns his attention to Ryan and gives a stiff nod. His grip slacks on the sword and his eyes become far warmer. It seems that the anger has faded away from the God of Rage. It's an odd sight to see him so calm. In the recordings, he is always screaming curses and maiming corpses. Here, he looks like he would never hurt a fly.

Is it really this easy to gain someone’s trust?

Mogar holds out a hand, letting his palm face the ceiling. He looks up at Ryan expectantly.

“You’re supposed to shake it, you know.” Mogar grins, easily.

It takes a moment, but eventually Ryan does reach out. He doesn't know what he’s expecting- a surprise hit or swing of the sword, maybe- but it isn't quite as awful as he might have thought. Mogar grabs onto his palm and shakes his hand for a second.

“Michael Jones,” Mogar says, finally introducing himself with his imagined alias. He lets go and glances back at Gavin. “Thanks for saving my boy.”

“You’re welcome.” Ryan says, awkwardly.

Michael turns his attention to Geoff, and the grin stays plastered on his face. The god looks half drunk, and Ryan wonders if that is actually the case.

“I forgot to tell you,” Michael says, swaying on his feet. “Terry shouldn't be a problem, anymore.”

Terry? He’s one of the scientists. What are the Hunters doing with Terry?

“You're going after Hydra?” Ryan asks. His voice breaks through the sudden excitement in the room, returning it to the melancholy that it has been for months, now. He almost regrets speaking.

“It's not about you,” Jack promises. It's a little bit of a relief. “We just don't want them rising up, again.”

“How do you know Terry?” Ramsey asks. A glance is all it takes for him to get his answer. Ramsey pauses and nods for a moment at the stupendous looks surrounding him. “Point taken.”

“Is that why they went for me?”

“I don't know. Maybe,” Jack answers, a little guilty. “I can't see them wanting to be on the defensive, though.”

One more.

“No.” Ryan says. “I can't either.”

“It doesn't matter. We’re not letting you go back, anyway.”

“I can handle myself.” Ryan bites, eyes narrowing at the offer. He doesn't like that they think they're so strong. They “protected” him, before, and it only ended with three dead and one, who had been moments away.

If it was Edgar, he wonders if he would have made the same decision. He knows Edgar- hates him- but Edgar isn't Biscuit. He isn't some throwaway general that the Vagabond knew for all of five minutes. He can handle himself, but if they send someone like Edgar, would he?

“We're just trying to help, Ryan.” Jack says, awkwardly shifting in place. It seems that she has noticed the sudden tension radiating from him. Ramsey has too.

“Maybe we should put him back in the cell. Keep an eye on him.” Ramsey says, without any of the maliciousness of the day- the weeks before.

Gavin tenses and Jack shakes her head, viciously. Surprisingly, it's Michael that comes to his defense.

“Didn't he save Gavin’s life?” The god asks, genuinely confused.

“He did.” Ramsey agrees. He casts a sideways look at the killer and Ryan doesn't react.

“And you're gonna lock him up for it?” Gavin screeches, stepping closer to Ryan. His voice is too loud and too high. Ryan wants to push him away, but he knows that they'll put him back in that room, if he does.

He’s tasted freedom. He doesn't want to go back to a life, without it.

“Where else are we gonna put him?” Ramsey demands.

“I can watch over him.” Michael offers. It's a nice offer, but Ryan probably isn't going to get much sleep, with the shadow of a bear over his shoulder.

“Ryan?” Jack asks, softly. It's always soft with her! “What do you think?”

“I don't care.” He says, dryly. He isn't going to get in the way of their decision. He knows his place and they know theirs. They decide for him- that’s how this goes. They shouldn't even be asking him.

“You don't have any opinion?” She sounds concerned, but Ryan doesn't care. He's got more important things to deal with than the emotions of an old enemy/friend.

“No.” He states, simply.

“So it's settled,” Ramsey claps his hands together. “You're going to the cell!”

“You're going with me.” Michael says, ignoring the not-metal man.

“You're going with Michael.” Gavin agrees, enthusiastically. “It’ll be great! I can stay over, too! Michael, you can watch over both of us.”

“Yay.” Michael drawls, dryly.

“Are you okay with that, Ryan?” Jack asks, cautiously. Her eyes are filled with worry and half of him wants to calm her down. It's alright, it really is. He's here, now! She's safe! They're all safe!

The other half wants to rip out those wide open eyes.

“It's fine.”

“Perfect!” Gavin screeches. “Sleepover!”

\---

The “sleepover” doesn't involve much sleep, because Gavin has chugged six cups of coffee in the past hours and keeps talking about how close he is to shitting. The eccentric Brit has a smile on his energetic face, but his shaking limbs have him running around, before anyone can really see it.

It’s 04:00, and Ryan wonders why he’s here.

\---

It’s 07:00, when Gavin crashes. He is snoring on the couch, one arm on the ground and the other over the disgruntled alien, who he somehow roped into sitting next to him. Michael is on his phone, a device that has somehow managed to combat the electrical current that always seems to radiate, when he is around.

That was in his file. They were worried that his arm would stop working, around the god. They wanted to test that, once he finished with Jack. 

Wait- that doesn’t make sense, does it? They didn’t have a plan for after. They were going to let him go. One more, and he was done!

It sounds familiar- always has. One more- one more- one more! He’s heard it, before. Too many times, before. It rings through his head, like the only constant in the world.

One more. One more drug. One more day. One more wipe.  One more kill.

It was never true, was it? All of it. Endless counts of one more that never really meant anything. One more day led to another. One more wipe, and he couldn’t even remember the promise. One more kill, but there was always more to follow.

One became two, became three, became forever. And now, here he is.

Free.

Purposeless, pointless, confused, but free! Despite what he has been told, freedom is comfortable. Freedom is a purpose, a point, an answer in itself. If the only point is the ability to sleep, without orders, it is still worth it.

They have felt it. Jack, Geoff, Gavin, Michael, Ray, the girl he hurt. They have felt that freedom, and have never felt it slip away. How good that must feel, and how rewarding.

But they have never felt it return. He feels like that is a reward of its own. They can’t understand the feeling of freedom, because they have never been without it. They cannot understand the weight that has been lifted off of his shoulders, because now he feels like he can breath, again!

No chains, now. No wipes. No orders. No walls. No more.

He could leave, now. The window isn’t barricaded, and the door may be locked, but he can break it down. He could kill the god, and leave the archer to rot. 

He could stay, too! He could stay, start a conversation with Michael, and remain free in this isolated room. He could wait for Jack to decide his fate. He could fall asleep, right here, and never be faced with running away.

He can make any choice he wants. No more chains. No more wipes.

It’s 07:00, and Ryan feels free for the first time in decades.

\---

“So how good are you with a bow?”

He is still staring at the television, watching some old documentary about D-Day, because Gavin says that he should learn more about the past, once he left it. The archer is staring at him, now, expecting some sort of response. 

Can he shoot a bow? He hasn’t done it, before. He can use any gun they can offer, but he isn’t exactly sure what he could do with a bow in his hand. He has never had one. The thought had not even crossed his mind, until there were arrows raining down from him on that beach, and all he could do was runaway. They had never struck Jack. A thousand arrows, and none of them ever struck the unconscious soldier.

Could he do that?

“I don’t know,” Ryan answers, truthfully. “I’m proficient with a sniper rifle.”

“Nah,” Gavin says, waving away the answer. He looks dismayed at the response, and Ryan can’t help but wonder why. Snipers are so much more efficient than a bow. An arrow has shorter range, heavier weight, and more of a downward trajectory. Bullets get the job done, without much difficulty. “Snipers are nothing like bows.” A truer fact has never been said.

“You’re right,” Ryan retorts, with a hint of a smile on his face. “Snipers are better.”

“Say that, again.”

“Snipers are better.” He repeats, putting more stress on the words. 

“How dare you?” Gavin gasps.

Michael is paying attention, now. His eyes are narrowed, and he is watching Ryan with indescribable focus. How is he going to react? How is he going to move? What is he going to do? All legitimate questions, and probably necessary, too.

“Shoot out, then?” Ryan asks, with a feral grin. 

“We’re not having a shootout.” Michael cuts in. Surprisingly, he is the responsible one, between the two of them.

“Aw, why not?” Gavin asks, sounding genuinely confused.

It’s a stupid question. They won’t be letting Ryan near any real weapons, anytime soon. It doesn’t matter how empty his hands feel, when he drops his hand to his side. It has only been a few hours, since he was allowed to use his own arms, again, but he already yearns to utilize them. He wants to shoot a gun, stab a target, punch an enemy. He wants to do everything that he has done, since the Vagabond first became a household name.

Wait- is he a household name? Damn, he doesn’t even know.

“If I went on the street, right now, would someone recognize me?” He doesn’t even realize that Michael has not answered Gavin’s question, yet. The others don’t seem to mind.

The face paint has worn away, and his hair is matted and dry, but he feels like he can be slightly recognizable. If they give him his mask and his jacket, the changes won’t even be noticeable. He’s still the Vagabond to the world. The civilians probably don’t even realize that he was captured.

He hasn’t gone this long, without a hit, before. Would they notice?

“No.” Michael answers, bluntly. 

It might be the answer that Ryan was expecting, but it is disappointing, nonetheless.

“Jack did, though.” Gavin cuts in, unnecessarily. He keeps flipping through the channels, and Ryan notices that he has gone through over 8,000 different shows, without looking at the screen.

“Jack doesn’t give up on people, too easily. I think she's been looking for him for ages.”

“You're wrong,” Ryan states. He might be mimicking Michael’s bluntness, but he doesn’t hesitate, before continuing. “She thought I was dead.”

He can still remember her face- the widened eyes, the half-opened mouth, the eyebrows that seemed to reach her hairline. She was mouthing things, and already shaking, within a minute of seeing him. One hand had reached out to grab him, and all he just leaned away from the touch.

He had been confused for a moment, but it hadn’t lasted long. He was on a mission. Kill Burns and get out. He may have been distracted by the walking and talking flag that was Captain America, but he had a duty. Kill the flag, and get out. 

But he knew her.

He said as much to Edgar, and everything after that is a blur. A foggy, limitless expanse of orders and demands. He can’t remember what happened after. There is only orders, a ship, a bloody and beaten Captain America, and the beach with a rain of arrows. Nothing in between, but a fuzzy mind.

Had Burns even been the last person he killed? There had to have been civilians thrown into the mix afterwards, right? Innocent people, living their lives, until a piece of a gigantic starship came crashing down on their heads. Or a stray bullet, shot by one of the grunts that Hydra orders to follow him around. People might have died.

People definitely died. The people on those ships. The Vagabond’s- their agents. The grunts probably went down in that hail of fire. He is the only one that’s left. Does he care? He shouldn’t care. It’s all just fog and he doesn’t know.

Edgar might be dead, Reggie might be dead, and Biscuit is definitely dead. His body might still be staining Ramsey’s immaculate floor. Did they remove him? Are they going to burn the body? Hydra won't like that. They like to vaporize the body, so that nothing they are hiding can get out. They are known for experimenting on their own men- he is probably the best example of that. They won't be happy if these Hunters take a blood sample. Should he-

“Hello?” Michael’s voice breaks through the fog, catching Ryan unaware. “Earth to Haywood!”

He blinks, glances around the room for a moment. It's somehow darker than it was a few moments ago.

“Sorry,” Ryan says. He did it, again. Always getting too far into his own head. He’ll drown in thoughts someday. That’s what Lester told him, once. The scientist was quick to take those thoughts away. “What were we talking about?”

It feels weird not to be woken up by a backhand. It's a nice weird. A wierd that doesn't leave his face stinging. A weird that lets him breathe, without tasting blood on his tongue. He can't help, but think that he likes it.

“I called your name four times,” Michael still has his eyes narrowed. It’s clearly judgemental, and for a moment, Ryan wonders why. It’s not like he is intentionally losing track of the world. It just happens. Michael doesn’t understand his inner monologue, and simply continues his statement. “What happened?”

“It was weird,” Gavin says, thoughtfully. “It was like you just shut down.” He looks up, suddenly, like there is something horrible that he has only just now noticed. “Michael, I don't want to reboot Ryan!” He sounds scared. It's not the type of fear that Ryan is used to dealing with.

“Are we gonna have to reboot you?” Michael asks, amused.

“Sometimes. Depends on how far gone I am.” It’s meant as a joke, but it falls horribly flat. He’ll have to work on that.

“How far gone do you go?” 

Good question. He doesn’t really know. He shrugs, instead of answering, and hopes that it’s enough.

It’s not.

“Do you do that a lot, too?” The god tries. It might be an honest attempt at reaching out, but Ryan doesn’t have it in him to care.

What was he even thinking about? Jack? It started with Jack. Wait, no. Not Jack. It wasn’t Jack. It was the Captain. The scowling wing-headed flag that managed to best him twice. No, not even twice- three times! He was distracted, and the Black Widow knocked him down, and the Captain knocked him out. It seems like the attack by the metal man was just adding insult to injury.

That is the question. Hydra is bad. Hydra is very bad. That must is simple. That must he can understand.

Is this case so simple? Are the Hunters the good guys, here? Are these the people that he should be trusting? Is it really so black and white, or is this the grey?

Before the Captain saw his face, she was going to kill him. Jack would have done it, when the world was still at war. This is just a new type of war. She didn’t know who he was, and she wanted to kill him. She wouldn’t have known what happened- Hydra would have collected his body, before the Hunters could get a good look at him. He’s too valuable a commodity.

She would have killed him, and the Vagabond would have faded into obscurity, just like the name Ryan Haywood.

“Did he do it, again?” Gavin shrieks, incrediblous. It’s the second time that Ryan has been jerked away from his internal monologue. He does not appreciate it.

“We should probably tell Geoff and Ray about that.” Michael states. His expression is softer, more concerned than angry. 

“About what?” Ryan finds himself asking.

“You were gone for a while. A minute,” Michael explains. He points at Gavin’s watch, shrugging a little. “He timed it.”

“And why do you need to tell Geoff?” Because Geoff is an asshole. Pure and simple. Geoff was the one to capture him, without explaining what the hell was going into. Geoff was the one to chain him down. Geoff was the one to threaten him-  _ You do this shit, again, and you’ll be wishing Hydra will take you back. _

He did it, again. He didn't want them back. Did Ramsey lie?

“It's not normal. That's not a thing people do.” He doesn't respond, because he doesn't need to. “We’re gonna tell Geoff, today. He's coming over in a few hours. It’ll all be good, Ryan.”

He doesn't really care.

\---

“So, you get all glazed. What's up with that?” Ray asks, donning a purple lab coat that seems three sizes too big. He also has a stethoscope around his neck. Ryan wonders how that will help him deal with a focusing issue.

“It happens.” Ryan says, bluntly. Jack sighs, and Ryan almost feels bad. He doesn't know why he should care, but he knows that he should. He doesn't like this. He isn't used to guilt.

“How long has this been going on? Hours, days, what?” Geoff asks. His arms are crossed, seemingly annoyed at everything relating to Ryan. It hasn't been a day, since he rescued Gavin, but it looks like Geoff has already forgotten about that.

“He used to forget where he was,” Jack says, sheepishly. “He used to wake up, and he couldn't remember that he wasn't still at that base.”

It seems that the others have already been briefed on that base, because none of them question it. Hell, they probably remember most about it than Ryan does. It's one of the foggier moments of his life. There are only a few bits and pieces left of it. How much of it do they know about?

“Is that still a thing with you?” The question is addressed to him, but he doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't remember his dreams. He doesn't remember much after them, either.

“When he woke up today, I think he tried to force choke Gavin.” Michael reports. It's a joke, or at least Ryan thinks so. He doesn't really know what a “force choke” is. Jack looks just as confused as he feels, but she doesn't comment on it.

“So zoning out. Anything else?” Ray still looks bored, but Ryan prefers that to Caleb and Jack’s disappointment. 

“I don't remember much.” Ryan says. Gavin takes a step back in surprise at the fact that he spoke willingly. The other Hunters look equally shocked. Ryan can't help but resent that.

“Of what? The zoning out? Your talk with Michael and Gavin? The nights wishing for the humble X-Ray to save you?” Ray asks, showcasing his trademark apathy. Ryan appreciates it.

“Everything. Being Ryan Haywood. Being the Vagabond,” he trails off, but continues when he sees Jack’s heartbroken face. She looks half-ready to cry. “It's all… foggy.”

“You said they wipe your mind,” Gavin states, scratching his forehead. “How does that work?”

“Do you need to know?” He doesn't want to talk about it- has never had to before. It's still blurry, but he can remember the sparks in his head, the throat that was too sore from screaming, and the feeling of knives rolling apart his brain, one nerve at a time.

“Yes.” Ramsey declares. It doesn't leave much wiggle room, so Ryan resigns himself to answering.

He opens his mouth, and the memories flood out.

\---

_ “That was her, wasn't it?” There is an ache resounding through his head, but he cannot bring himself to care. Edgar is watching him, hands clenched behind his back. The Vagabond doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything, except that woman. “I know her.” _

_ Edgar is clearly dissatisfied by that. His usual grin is lessened, now. His face is pulled into a scowl, and the soldiers beside him have their fingers on the trigger. The Vagabond doesn't mind. He is used to these shows of power. It's nothing more than monotony, now. _

_ “You don't,” Edgar says. It's a lie, though. He knows her. He has seen her before. “You saw her on a mission, once. That's it.” _

_ “You're wrong,” he regrets it, as soon as he says it, but he knows that he cannot take it back. “I know her.” _

_ “Fine. You want proof?” Edgar turns to the scientists, and the scowl is gone, replaced by a smirk. “Prep the asset, Terry.” _

_ “Sir.” _

_ Shackles around his arms. Foam between his teeth. Metal pikes over his head. Wires in his stronger arm. _

_ He doesn't say anything. He just clenches his teeth around the foam and hopes that it won't last long. _

_ He sees the sparks, before they begin. _

_ There is pain. Pain. Pain. Burning. Piercing. Spikes. Shock. Hurting. Hurting. Burning. Screaming. Burning. _

_ Hours. Minutes. Seconds. He really can't tell. _

\---

He regrets it, as soon as he says it.

“Ryan-” Jack manages to get out, before Ramsey cuts her off. The metal man’s eyes are alight with interest.

“How did that work?” Ramsey asks, with too much excitement. He pauses, when he sees Jack’s clenched fists and gnawing teeth. “Not that I want to replicate it. Just so I can help you.”

He doesn’t even know if he wants the help, but he doesn’t really seem to have a choice. As much as he feels like the restraints have been ripped away, they have really only loosened. There is a reason that they left him with a god, instead of letting him stay alone. He isn’t stupid. They don’t trust him- probably never will.

And that raises another question, doesn’t it? Why are they keeping him- helping him- protecting him? Jack might be an old friend, sure, but that isn’t grounds for this. They want something from him. There is no doubt in his mind. He just has to wait for that pin to drop, before they whisk him off to war. Nothing else makes sense.

An asset to Hydra can be an asset to the Hunters, too.

That could explain why Ramsey seems to be so interested in the wipes. He wants to wipe the slate clean- start over with him. Pick him up, without any Hydra influence. Jack can have her Ryan Haywood back, if they mold him right, and Ramsey can have the Vagabond. It makes sense, right? In his experience, people aren’t just nice to be nice. Everyone has ulterior motives. Especially, when it concerns him.

He doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose the few memories that make him an actual person, instead of a tool. He wants to tell them that it can't be replicated. A chemical of some sort, and he can't recall what it is. A codeword that he can't remember. Wiring in his arm that sends signals to his brain. He wants to tell them anything that isn't the truth.

But it isn't his place to lie. He hasn't done it in almost 70 years.

He explains, hesitantly. He doesn't know the full details, himself, but he can explain the feel of it. The barely memorable muttering of an experimenting Lester, before the arm was even completed. The shocks as Ryan Haywood died, and the Vagabond was made in his place. The confusion. The fog. The sparks. The memories that took far too long to jog. 

That's the point, isn't it? Make a shell, and don't let him escape. The Vagabond needed to always beat back Haywood. If he didn’t, the entire operation would fail. They would mark him down as a mistake, and replace him with someone that wouldn’t pose the same problems.

But they never needed to worry about that. Lester’s prized creation was a success. A murder machine, without a mind. Perfection.

Gavin gags at some point during his explanation. It isn’t even a particularly gruesome part- just a brief mention of the mouthpiece. Michael rolls his eyes, while the mortal tries to cough his lungs out of his chest. Ryan just continues with his debrief.

“And you don’t fight that?” Geoff exclaims, at one point. His face is twisted into disgust, and Jack doesn’t look much better. Michael crosses his arms, but doesn’t seem to care one way or another, while Gavin gags.

“No.” He doesn’t really have the authority to do that, anyway. He doesn’t really get much of a choice, there.

“Why did you stay?” Jack’s voice cracks, a little, but he pretends that he didn’t hear it. She won’t meet his eyes as it is. He doesn’t want to make it any worse for her.

“Why did you?” Because there is no real way to explain it. To an outsider, he looks like an idiot. The asset that stuck with a dying company. The soldier that surrendered every single time. A coward. He doesn’t want her to think of him like that. He doesn’t want anyone thinking of him like that. He is supposed to be feared. He isn’t supposed to be weak like that.

“Why did I what?” Jack asks, taking half a step towards him.

“Stay with S.H.I.E.L.D.. I read your files. They betrayed you. They lied to you- to both of us. You didn’t have to stay.”

“We’re not S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Geoff snaps. In the corner of the room, a green and black suit of armor stirs. Geoff waves it back, but the threat is still there. Even if it wasn’t intentionally threatening, Ryan is hyper aware of it, now. “We’re Hunters.”

It’s a lie and he knows it. The second they put him on the Burns case, they forced him to study this group. There is more of them that he hasn’t seen, but many of the files don’t have pictures, so it doesn’t matter. What does matter is the fact that every single one of these men is affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D.. They can claim the moral high ground all they like, but they are just as guilty as he is.

There is no good in S.H.I.E.L.D.. He knows that, just like they should.

“This isn’t S.W.O.R.D., Ryan. It’s different, now.” She sounds unsure, and he plays into that. In all honesty, he doesn’t know why he’s doing it, but instinct has him barking out a response.

“They left us to die. You just went right back with them.” It surprises him more than any of them.

He doesn’t care, right? Haywood died, and that’s why he’s alive. The Vagabond won, and now he’s here. He shouldn’t care how. He doesn’t. He can’t.

He doesn’t know anything, anymore. Not even how he feels.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Robocop,” it isn’t Jack, and that’s the surprising part. Geoff is the one who snaps at him. Though his fists are clenched, it isn’t much of a threat with his fleshy hands. “Should she have joined an extremist terror group, instead? Maybe she could have killed some government agents. Oh! Or maybe she could try to kill her best friend! That’s always a good one.”

He doesn’t really have a retort, so he settles for a classic. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“Geoff.” Jack warns, just as Michael calls out for Ryan.

Two arms wrap around his metal arm, before he realizes that he is only inches away from Geoff, now. He lets Michael pull him back, but continues to direct his glare at Ramsey.

“He’s dangerous, Jack.” The metal man remarks, while he struts over to his metal death machine.

“Maybe don’t provoke him!” Jack snaps, instantly coming to his defense. Loyal, he’ll give her that.

Gavin has his bow in hand- arrow already nocked and pointed at the Vagabond’s skull. They aren’t taking risks with him, are they? One shot, and he’ll drop like a stone. It seems that Gavin forgot about yesterday. The debt goes unpaid. The Vagabond will remember that.

“We’re gonna walk around on eggshells with him for the rest of our lives? He’s just one of them. That’s all he’s ever going to be,” he turns his attention to the Vagabond, and scowls. “When you hurt one of us, I’m going to hunt you down.”

“You’ll be the first to go.” He promises, through clenched teeth.

“We’ll see about that, you fucking Nazi.”

Michael has to drag him away.

\---

“That probably could have gone better.” Michael might intend it as a joke, but it falls flat on deaf ears.

“Ryan-” Jack tries, waving her hand to get his attention. He stays silent, but turns his attention to her.

“Are you actually gonna kill him? Cause he pays well, and benefits back in Achievement City aren't so hot, right now.” Michael says to lighten the mood. Again, it doesn't work. “Alright, I'm just gonna shut up now.”

“We want to help you,” Jack tries, desperately. The Vagabond doesn't respond. “I know it was hard, but you need to let us help you. You're just hurting yourself, here.”

“Don't need help.”

“If you didn't need help, you would have stayed with the bad guys. Killed Gavin and stuff,” Michael cuts in. At Jack’s look, he takes a step back. “Sorry. I’m, uh, I think I'm just gonna admire this shrubbery. It's really nice. It's got leaves and stuff. Really beautiful.”

“Ryan, you need to let us help you.” Jack says, ignoring the flustered god.

“Why? What do you get out of this?” He demands, cracking his fleshy thumb in his fist. It's harmless, but Jack winces at the sound.

“You're my friend. That's it.”

“I'm an asset,” he says, coldly. He wants the word ingrained in her mind, because it's true. He is a tool, a weapon! He isn't some broken toy that can be put back together, again. He's a soldier that was left behind, and the greatest experimental success story in the history of the world. He has done one more more times than he can count. There is nothing else that he is. There is nothing else he can be, but a cold blooded murderer. “Get used to it.”

“Ryan, do you remember when Hydra first got you?” Jack asks, softly. He doesn't answer. “Coal was there, and Lester. Gunerz, Shadles, Bragg, Dooley. I threw you over that platform, remember?”

He flinches, but still manages to say, “I distinctly remember a mountain.”

“I distinctly remember a whining bitch,” Ryan let's out something between a grunt and a laugh, and it warms her heart. “Coal was talking about the serum. He saw you, and he said-”

“‘You could be like that with the proper resources.’” At Jack’s confused glance, he decides to elaborate. “Lester was particularly proud of that. He used to show me your videos.”

“How’d you like them?”

“You're an awful actor.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t all go to theatre school.”

“Your fist was a foot away from Hitler. I don’t think you could’ve hit him, if you tried.”

“Hey, I’m the one who finally took down Coal. I didn’t see you pushing him into the Source Block.” Jack says, with a grin. Ryan’s barely-there grin falls, for a moment. It isn’t the same, when it comes back.

“That was you?” He asks, utterly shocked. It isn’t possible, right? Hydra told him that it was S.H.I.E.L.D.. That was one of the reasons that they sent him after Hullum and Sorola. They stole the Source Block and killed Coal. The Vagabond was their vengeance. He was their resource to help them get it back. It fell, and he needed to find out where it was. Where is it?

His finger twitches at his hip, and he tenses, when his pistol isn’t there.

“They didn’t tell you?”

“No. How did he go?” Ryan asks, bitterly. Just another thing to stack on top of the mountain of half-truths and outright lies. Soon, it will rival Everest.

“I pushed him into the Source Block and he evaporated.” She says it so bluntly- so matter of fact- like it isn’t a mystery that Hydra has been trying to solve for years. It’s almost refreshing to hear.

“Oh.” Is all he can really say.

“Yeah,” When he doesn’t respond, Jack just continues. “I’m sorry. I just-” She cuts herself off, and hangs her head, like she cannot bear to look at him. “Hydra knew about you the whole time.”

“And?” He doesn’t really see the point, here.

“We kept leaving you behind. Up in a tree, or behind a stump, or in the jeep. You were having nightmares, and I ignored it. You kept waking up screaming, Rye,” Her shoulders slump. “We didn’t do anything.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does! What if we’d figured out what they did to you? You didn’t recognize me, when I found you, Rye! You were like- like the Vagabond! They had it planned the whole time! If I did something, I could have kept you safe!” She sounds desperate, and she finally meets his eyes. She looks heartbroken, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

Michael whistles, quietly, and they both ignore him.

“What you think that would be any better?” Bitter, again. Bitter seems to be his standard, today. “You think Hullum wouldn’t have done exactly what Lester did?”

“No!” She sounds appalled. Why? It’s not like they didn’t betray her, before. There isn’t really a difference between their situations. “We can’t wipe minds, Ryan!”

He shrugs. “They would’ve figured it out. Lester didn’t have too much trouble with it.”

“We don’t do that.”

“Until you do. I didn’t kill people, until I did. You weren’t a supersoldier, until you were. It’s a fact of life, Cap. You don’t do anything, until you do.”

“What did they do to you?” It’s more of a whisper than a statement. Michael stops whistling.

“They made me stronger.” He flexes the fingers on his metal arm, and Jack winces.

“They didn’t.”

“I  _ lost my arm _ ! I woke up, and it was six feet away from me! They gave me it back- they made it stronger! They made  _ me  _ stronger!”

It is one of the few vivid memories he has left. One they wanted him to keep to fuel- he can't even remember what.

The blinding light of the snow. The pain radiating through his back and his shoulder. The words that he couldn't stop mumbling. The panic, as he sees his arm half- buried in the snow, too far out of reach. The whispers of the two soldiers, who stood above him.

He blinks away the memory, and faces Jack, instead.

“I was weak. I'm not, anymore.”

She doesn't respond, and her mouth just hangs half-open. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes are wide and unblinking. There isn't any response to that, and he knows it. She does too. Nothing can combat the simple facts of evolution. The weak die. He lives. That's it.

“Kdin used to be that way,” Michael’s voice breaks through the silence, drawing their collective attention. What does he has to do with this? Kdin was weak. He lost. there shouldn't ever be a comparison between them. “He was a good guy. Little snarky- very nerdy, but good. He lost something that he should've gotten, and he wanted it back. He tried to get stronger, and it worked for a while, but eventually, he lost his good. Now he's in a cell in Achievement City.”

“And?”

“Stronger doesn't always mean better. You might be stronger now, but you used to be better. You still can be. You can make up for everything you've done.”

It's been months, since they found him. Months, since he spared Jack’s life. Months, since he shot and killed Burns. Months, since he was unquestionably the Vagabond.

Six months ago, Ryan was dead at the bottom of a snowy ditch. The Vagabond was alive and well. Hydra was preparing for its victory, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was nearing its death.

Now, to the rest of the world, the Vagabond is missing. Ryan is still dead. Hydra is dying, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is still alive. Everything has changed, and it's been moving so fast, and yet so mind numbingly slowly that it is almost hard to follow. 

But what has he done, since then? He regretted his past few decades. He sat in a cell and tried to kill his only allies. He reminisced on a thousand different murders. He betrayed the people, who sheltered him for 70 years.

The thought of doing something- of doing anything to make up for any of it is intriguing.

“How?” He asks, too suddenly. 

“Join us. Help us help people.” He says it, like it is just so simple- like it isn’t a contrast to every single thing that Ryan has done, since they shipped him off to war. 

“I don’t do that.” It’s true. He isn’t good. He doesn’t help people. Michael can do that, and Jack can do it, and Ramsey, but he can’t. He isn’t the good guy- never was. He didn’t volunteer, because he wanted to help people. He didn’t volunteer at all. They drafted him into a war that he never wanted to fight, even if that meant innocent people would die in his place. Ryan Haywood was just as much of a monster as the Vagabond. He doesn’t help people.

“You could,” Jack, now, trying to force some morality into him. It doesn’t work; he can’t let it. “You’re a good person, Ryan, I know it. Michael’s right. You could help people.”

“By killing them? Because that’s really the only talent I have. I’m not a hero.”

“You were,” Michael states, firmly. “And you’re gonna be, again.”

“I wasn’t. You’re lying. You don’t know me.” They don’t- they can’t. They barely know anything about the past few decades of his life. They barely know about the men that he struck down, after the war. They know nothing about the innocents that he slaughtered, simply because they were in the way. He isn’t a good guy. His hands are bloody. His heart is stained. His mind is tainted.

“No, we do,” Jack says, softly. “That’s why we’re giving you a second chance.”

“You don’t. You can’t.”

“Ryan-” He cuts her off, because he can’t stand to hear their lies, anymore. He’s sick of them, and he’s sick of all of it. They’re ganging up on him, and he wants to go. He wants to be back in that hotel, where he really was free, and Reggie wasn’t there yet, and Ramsey was just a name in a file, and Ryan Haywood was still just a whisp of a memory and name in a museum. He wants it back.

“Do you know what I’ve done?” He doesn’t even bother to let them answer. He just angrily snaps into his next response, because he is  _ sick and tired  _ of listening! “Do you anything at all? Who I’ve killed? Who I’ve tortured? Who I’ve slaughtered?”

“It doesn’t matter. You can make up for it! It wasn’t your fault!” Jack insists, blinding herself to the true issue, here.

“‘It doesn’t matter’? People are dead! Why don’t you care?”

“Because it’s not-

“Shadles lost a tire and slammed into a wall,” Jack tenses, and Ryan just shuts his eyes. “Matt fell out of the plane, before it even crashed. Jeremy didn’t buy that gun. How do you think I know that? You think that happened naturally? Three days! That’s how long it took for all three of ‘em!”

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room, and all that is left is a vacuum. It strangles him, like there is a vice wrapped around his neck. Jack looks so pale that it might be happening to her, too.

Michael looks confused, but it doesn’t matter. He’s irrelevant. He isn’t like them. He didn’t know them. He doesn’t know what it was like. Jack doesn’t either.

They don’t know what it’s like to sit behind that rifle- to strangle a war hero- to shoot a veteran, and press the gun into his palm. They don’t know what it’s like to live behind a black leather mask. They don’t know what it’s like to watch everything burn, without knowing why it matters.

When Jack doesn’t respond, he just continues. “Are you gonna make excuses, now? I killed them! Matt and Jeremy- they kept asking ‘why’! Shadles, I think he saw me, but he didn’t really get to do anything about it. It was before the mask, you know? They wanted them to see my face! And they did! I would’ve gone after you, too. That was the plan, but you left! I would’ve done it, too. I tried. If Widow hadn’t been there, your body would be in a Hydra lab, right now!”

Still no response, and it just makes him angrier. “Are you still gonna say I’m clean? Are you still going to say I’m your friend? You don’t have friends!” He pauses, just to let it sink in. “I killed them all! So tell me, do you still want me to be a Hunter?”

There is a long moment of silence, and Ryan expects that that is how this conversation is going to end. He turns to leave, ready to head back to Michael and Gavin’s couch, because that seems to be his home, nowadays. It is a shock, when Jack finally speaks up.

“You were right. Ryan is dead, Vagabond.” It’s almost a whisper, but it’s loud enough that all three of them can hear it.

The vacuum in the room gets stronger.

\---

Jack looks at him differently, now. It wasn’t personal, before. He killed Burns, sure, but no one else close to her. He was just a vague mercenary, who committed hits that he never had to hear about. Now, he’s a murderer, and she knows it.

Good. He doesn’t want to hear the lies. He doesn’t want to hear another “you couldn’t have stopped it”. He could have. If he actually tried to fight the wipes, it would have been different. At first, he fought back, but the second they perfected the wipes, he stopped. He should have kept fighting. He should have done something.

He doesn’t even want to think about C Team. He doesn’t want to think about how welcoming they were. He doesn’t want to think about how friendly, how nice, how brave, and how loyal. He stopped that. He ended that. They’re all gone.

He hasn’t thought about it- had never even bothered to think about the significance of those murders. He feels lighter to have said it aloud, but it only makes his past even heavier.

Everything feels like a confliction. He wants to leave, but he doesn’t want to get captured. He wants to go back to Hydra- yearns for that simplicity- but he is appalled by the very idea. He wants to apologize to Jack, but 70 years of experience tell him that apologies are meaningless. He wants them to understand, but he wants to push them away. He wants to make up for everything, but he wants nothing to do with any of it.

He wants to be Ryan Haywood, but he also wants to be the Vagabond.

Nothing makes sense. He used to be stronger, didn’t he? Or was he weaker? It used to be black and white. He was strong. Hydra was strong. His targets were weak. S.H.I.E.L.D. was weak.

But now he is something in between. Jack should be weak, because of her softness, but she isn’t. She beat him.

Edgar is dead. Does that make him weak?

He feels like he’s still in the 40’s, sometimes. He can forget about the past few decades. He can forget about all of it. He’s just the draftee, alone, but unbothered.

And sometimes, he’s just the Vagabond.

He needs to pick one. Nothing is going to be right, until he does.

\---

There are no knives in the kitchen- no forks either- so he rests against the counter, trying to sharpen the edge of a spoon. He doesn’t have anything useful on his person, so he uses his metal fingernail as a sharpener. It’s a long process, and he has barely scraped off one layer of dirt, but it will be enough, when he finally has a weapon with him.

It’s been eight months, since they rescued him. He still feels useless, without a gun by his side. Maybe a shank can help relieve that itch.

He hears the footsteps approaching, so he drops the spoon on the counter, and drifts his attention to the floor. It’s the pose that they usually find him in, when they leave him alone. He doesn’t get up to much, when they are away on a mission.

This is what the Vagabond is resorted to, huh? Standing in a kitchen, waiting for his captors to return. He won’t greet them, and they won’t greet him. Jack will look away- she can’t stand to look him in this eyes, anymore. He’s too much of a disappointment. Ramsey will glare at him. Michael will have his sword in hand. Gavin, at least, tries to ask him questions.

He’s gotten good at evading.

The footsteps stop by the door, and he doesn’t bother to even look up. It isn’t a sound that he recognizes- this person sounds lighter than the other Hunters. There isn’t much weight in their step. Scrawny then- short, too.

“What’s wrong with you?” It’s a voice that he hasn’t heard in a long time. He recognizes it, immediately.

“You’re the other archer.” He observes, finally raising his head to look at her. Purple hair, lensless glasses, an empty quiver on her back, a bow slung over her shoulder, and Gavin’s logo prominent on her chest. 

“No shit. And no-” She says, before he can interrupt. “I’m not mad about the concussion thing.”

“I gave you a concussion?” He doesn’t know how he feels about that. The Vagabond would be happy, but Ryan would regret it. Who is he supposed to listen to?

“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way,” she snaps, crossing her arms over the logo. “But that’s not the important thing. What did you do to Jack?”

“I told her the truth.”

“And what’s that?” She demands, like she deserves to know.

“That I killed our friends. That I didn’t care.” He wants his mask back, because he is fairly certain that his expression isn’t as cold as it should be.

“Why? What did she do to you, asshat?” He doesn’t appreciate the insult.

And what did she do? She didn’t insult him. She didn’t hurt him. She didn’t send him back. She kept him safe, and dared to offer him help. And he hurt her for that.

What’s wrong with him?

“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. This girl deserves to know, right? He hurt her and he hurt Jack. One of them deserves to know why. “I was angry. They trusted me.”

Her expression softens, and why does everyone get soft around him? What is it about him that draws pity from these people? All of Hydra is apathetic to him, and all of S.H.IE.L.D. thinks he’s pitiful. Why? He doesn’t understand, and it’s just too confusing.

“So, why did you say that? Just because they trusted you?” It feels like the long-ago interview with Caleb.

He hasn’t seen her in a while, either. He probably scared her off. No one wants to stay with the Vagabond- not even his owners.

“They want me to help people.”

“Ok?”

“I don’t do that. I hurt people. I think- I think I wanted her to see that?” It comes off as more of a question than a statement.

“Are you confused?” She asks, genuinely concerned.

“I think so.”

“Is it normal?”

“I don’t… I think-” He cuts himself off, because he doesn’t know. Everything felt clear in the beginning, but now those memories are the ones that are muddled, and he can remember Austin in the Summer of ‘42, like it was yesterday. He can remember Jeremy begging him to put down the gun. He can remember Matt asking if it was really him- what’s wrong with his arm. He can remember Shadles waving goodbye. All of that- crystal clear.

He can’t remember what the cell looks like. He can’t remember the layout of his face paint, anymore. The Vagabond is fading, now.

“No,” the archer answers for him. “I’m going to talk to Caleb. Stay here.”

He doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. Steffie will sound the alarm, if he dares to set foot anywhere near the door. He doesn’t have much of a choice.

He nods his affirmation, anyway, and the archer runs off- sprinting as fast as she can. It’s stupid. She doesn’t need to run. She doesn’t need to worry. It’ll all be fine. 

Ryan picks up the spoon, and continues to wittle.

\---

There is a brain scan, and Caleb is not happy.

The entire team, plus Ryan, are gathered in Caleb’s makeshift hospital, staring at the photographs that the nurse has strung up on every wall. Brain scans, lit up yellow and blue and red and grey in every possible area. There are other scans beside them, of a normal person’s brain, Caleb says. There isn't any grey in the normal pictures.

“You're saying he’s broken?” Ramsey demands. He glances at Ryan with narrowed eyes, like this is some sort of trick, and he's waiting for the trap to be sprung. There isn’t one, and Ryan just stares at his deformed brain and wonders.

_ Is that why everything is foggy? _

“I'm saying Hydra might have had a contingency plan, when they sent him to fight Jack.”

“They wanted us to catch him? That doesn't make sense,” Michael observes. “Wasn't he their James Bond or something?”

“I don't think that was the plan. I think it's just a backup in case something like this did happen.”

“So what's it going to do to him?” The female archer asks.

“It might be reversible, so not much if we can fix it. If we can't… He’s degrading. It's starting with memory, and it could start leaking into other things, like motion.”

Wait, what?

“I won't be able to move?” That's not good.

“Or think. Or talk. Or do anything, really. The brain is pretty important.”

“Can you do something? Maybe prevent the brain rot?”

“I'm a nurse. I don't deal with brain rot too often, sorry. Bullet holes, sure. That's fine. The brain isn't exactly my expertise. Geoff might be able to do something, but I'm at a loss.”

Geoff grunts, dismissively, and Ryan can feel his heart sink. They’re going to let this happen, aren’t they? They are going to just let him rot and die.

Maybe they’ll drop him off on Hydra’s door, before the end of it. He hopes not. It might be preferable to die, before that happens. He doesn’t want to lose control, again. He wants to be free, and Hydra wants to take that freedom away from him. He doesn’t want to lose himself, again!

Ryan is nice. Ryan is cool. Ryan isn't a psychopath, who lives on the whims of others. Ryan is a person, instead of an asset. He doesn't want to be a thing, again.

“I can help,” Ray offers, digging his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “I have experience with losing myself. I might be able to help you.”

“I’ll help, too,” Michael states, sheathing his sword. “Achievement City has some good shit. Some of it might help out here.”

“Alright,” Jack announces, quickly taking the lead. “Geoff, Ray, and Michael will work on it. In the meantime, Caleb, Gavin, and Meg can keep watch. Everyone happy with that?”

“And what do I do?” Ryan asks, almost nervously. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t want to go back to those days in the cell- trapped and helpless, relying on strangers for everything. He doesn’t want to lose himself, entirely. He’s lost enough that any more might be overkill.

“You’re just going to have to wait, until we figure something out.” The statement surprises no one.

“I can’t do anything? It’s my brain!”

“Try not to think too hard,” Geoff snaps, viciously. “You might accelerate the process.”

“Excuse me?” Ryan takes a half step forward, but is pushed back, almost immediately. Jack positions herself between them, and turns her angry gaze towards him.

“Can I talk to you outside, Ryan?”

\---

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” Confusion- that is all he can feel. What does Jack have to apologize for? Ignoring him? He would have done it in her place. Capturing him? He would have been in Hydra’s hands, if they hadn't. Jack doesn't have anything to apologize for.

“I thought it was you, but I talked to Caleb, before the meeting, and she says it's not your fault. It was them- not you.” It's just like before, where she won't meet his eyes, but she’ll talk to him, nonetheless. Disappointment and guilt- clear on her face.

“What are you talking about?” Because she really does need to explain. Nothing has ever made sense, and it's only getting worse as the seconds tick by.

“I should never have said that you died. I shouldn't have called you ‘Vagabond’. I'm sorry.”

“Thanks?” He isn't used to apologies- genuine ones, at least.

“We're gonna help you, Rye. Sit this one out, and you'll be back to normal, before you know it.” Jack promises.

“I want to help.”

“You can’t.”

\---

His brain is imploding, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s been minutes, hours, days, since they told him to wait. He’s waiting for it to be weeks, but they aren’t quite there, yet.

They’ve done more scans, and the grey is only increasing in the pictures, while the yellow fades away. Caleb says that it looks like the rate of decay is only increasing. Meg has been watching him, since the latest scan, waiting for the last bit of grey to swallow the color.

They’re waiting for his brain to die, and none of them can do anything about it.

Jack keeps telling him not to worry. They have a plan. When she says it, there is only softness and regret in her voice. He doesn’t like that.

He asks what the plan is, and he doesn’t get an answer.

\---

It hits weeks, and everything  _ hurts _ . 

His head hurts, his fleshy arm hurts, his legs hurt, his chests hurts. The only thing that doesn’t burn is his metal limb, and even that is starting to sting.

He’s under constant watch, now. Purple hair, metal heads, and winged helmets are everywhere. Once, he catches sight of something green, but that doesn’t last too long.

They try to talk to him, but he just stares at them and wonders if they’ll stop the pain. Maybe the colors can help him. That’d be nice. That’d be really nice.

They don’t do anything, and the pain persists.

\---

He doesn’t know exactly where his tooth goes, but it’s back, before he really recognizes that it’s gone. He doesn’t know when the needle gets in his arm, either. To be fair, he doesn’t really care.

\---

There’s almost no yellow left, when they move him. He sleeps through it.

\---

Red, white, and blue is saying something to him. He can’t really focus on the voice, but he misses it, when it’s gone.

\---

Red finds him, again, and he doesn’t notice, until it’s too late.

\---

Everything is all too clear, all too quickly. The walls are plated, lined with cabinets that contain a million different tools. Scientists, all dressed in brand new labcoats, dance around those cabinets, whispering to themselves. When they notice his consciousness, the whispering only gets more frantic.

The guards, standing watch by the door, levy their guns at his skull. One barks into his radio, and the only word that stands out is “Asset”. Somewhere, a heart monitor is slowing down.

Pain radiates from his head, and from his metal hand, but he forces himself to push that aside. Pain doesn’t matter, here.

How did he get back? He was supposed to be free! They were supposed to help him- save him! They’d promised and sworn, and yet, here he is! Strapped to a table, and left waiting for whatever retribution is to come.

And it will come. He killed his owner. He killed Biscuit. They’re going to rip him apart. They’re going to break him back down, and build him back up into their attack dog. Ryan Haywood, be damned. This is Vagabond territory. This is Hydra.

He’s back.

“Funny, isn’t it?” His heartbeat picks up, encouraged by the sheer panic that shoots through him. He knows that voice. He knows that accent- American, with a hint of German, and a few too many years spent in Siberia. He hates it. “You died. I died. Quite the reunion, hm?”

He sees the shoes, before he sees the man. Black dress shoes, marching through the bars that enclose the room. The man is dressed well for the occasion- still in the black and white suit that he never seems to part with. His face is changed- the hair is gone, and some of the skin has seared away, but the expression is the same. Prideful.

Edgar won. He always wins.

“What? Nothing to say? I heard you had a lot to say to General Biscuit.”

_ “I’m not the asset, here. _ ”

The words ring through his head, like a torturous sermon. He made a mistake. He trusted the Hunters, and it backfired. He thought he could run away, and he couldn’t. He thought he could enjoy the taste of freedom, but it only makes this worse.

He doesn’t want to be back.

“Pretty silent now, huh? You used to be so loud about everything. ‘I know her’, remember? You were pretty adamant about that, right? Adorable. Worked out so well for you, didn't it?”

“No.”

“No, what?” A sneer.

“No, sir.”

“You've forgotten your manners. Have you even done anything, since you killed Biscuit?” He doesn't wait for an answer. “No, you just sat aside and let them kill more and more of us. You're useless. Pathetic! Nutt and I almost died, because of you!”

_ If only you actually had. _

“You were supposed to kill Captain America, but you let her beat you!” So they don't know the whole story. She beat him, and he beat back. He saved her. They don't know that. He doesn't know how to feel about that. “You're weak! And we lost everything!”

There must be something on his face, because Edgar’s next move is to punch him in the stomach. His muscles are gone, there, and don't provide much support, anymore. He pulls against his restraints, and sucks in a breath.

This is what he feared. Edgar is angry. Edgar knows almost everything that happened these past few months. He isn't going to let his slide. He never liked the Vagabond- never liked the thought of someone stronger than him. The only way to survive this is by giving in.

“Tell me, did you miss us?” His smile only reaches half of his face, now. The scar tissue renders the rest immobile.

Ryan doesn’t answer, and he bites his tongue, when the hand strikes his cheek.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes, sir.” He lies, through clenched teeth.

“Then why didn’t you come back? You’re stronger than them. One more kill, and you would’ve been free. It’s too bad. Now, we have to do it all over, again.” He turns his cold gaze to one of the scientist, and nods. “Prep him, Steve.”

“Sir.” Steve moves quickly, and the foam is in Ryan’s mouth, before he can do anything about it. He doesn’t even have time to panic, before a metal piece is set onto his eye, and electricity is igniting.

As he screams, a tooth rattles.

\---

“What is that? What’s happening to him?” Meg demands, as the sound of undying screaming relays over Geoff’s microphone. It’s muffled, but still unnervingly present.

Jack can’t answer, so she lets Geoff explain it, instead. She just watches her oldest friend writhe and shake, while their oldest enemy is  _ torturing _ him.

She did that. She left him with them. She gave him back, when she promised that she never would, again. He’s going to forget, again, and it’s her fault!

He’d been practically catatonic, when they left him there. Dead to the world, just like he was that cold day on the mountain. He’s gone, and he’s back to who he was. They’re making him the Vagabond, again.

Somewhere, Gavin is off retching into a potted plant. He hadn’t taken the explanation of this well, and he obviously isn’t taking the visual aid well, either. The footage from Geoff’s nanobots is beyond high definition, and it isn’t exactly pretty to watch. Jack really cannot blame him, when she feels sick, herself.

“Can we get him, now?” She demands. She doesn’t look at Geoff- unable to tear her gaze away from the screen.

“Not, yet. We still need the cure.”

“Can’t we just take it?” Michael asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His fists are clenched, and his sword twitches on his back.

“If you want them to give us poison, sure. Have at it!” Geoff snarks.

“You really think they’ll kill him? I thought they need him.” Now, the warrior just looks confused.

“If they think we’re going to use him against them, they’ll get rid of him. That’s why they were willing to rot his brain. We need to make sure they can’t fuck him up even more, if we get him back.”

“When we get him back.” Jack corrects.

Geoff rolls his eyes. “When.” He stares at the screen, and after a few moments, a smirk breaks out on his face. Before Jack can hate him for it, he speaks. “I always said that Edgar guy was an asshole.”

\---

“Do you know who I am?”

They take the foam out of his mouth, and the plating off of his head, before he can get the chance to speak. He doesn’t fight them. The leader waits patiently for his response.

“Edgar.” He answers, bluntly.

Edgar nods, and takes a step towards him. “What do you remember about your last mission?”

“I killed the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D..”

“Anything after?”

“No.” The Vagabond says.

“You were spotted by one of his agents. He took you down, and the mission failed, because of it,” Edgar clenches his fists. “ _ The entire mission _ .”

“Sir.”

“You compromised everything we’ve been working towards!” Edgar is angry. Very incredibly angry. “70 years of work for nothing!”

“Sir-” He tries. The punch that strikes his chest doesn’t hurt much, but it’s enough of a warning that he stops talking. Edgar is angry. He doesn’t want to make him angrier.

“You fucked this up, and you’re going to pay for that.” He turns away from the prone Vagabond, and addresses the scientists, instead. “I want a daily cycle. I don’t want him- I don’t want  _ it _ remembering how many times it shits per day, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” One of them agrees, readily.

“I want cryo every second that it isn’t on a job, or being wiped. And I want it to know this, whenever it wakes up. Every single time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to know everything the asset does. Every minute of its fucking life. No missions, without armed guards.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this-” He grabs a bag off of a table, and throws it to the leader. The man catches it, but barely manages to keep his grip. “Is a once every six months thing. Keep it reliant, and this won’t happen, again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir”

“See it done, or next time I blame you.”

The scientist nods, and Edgar leads his entourage out of the room. The guards that follow him are all dressed in thick black armor, and march in perfect time. Raised for this and bred for this- this what Hydra mercenaries live for.

He isn't the only one who lives at Edgar’s mercy.

“Freeze him. We’ll get him up tomorrow for the wipe.” The leader says to the other men. There are a few nods, and one spoken affirmation, and one of them walks up to him. A needle is sticking into his neck, before he can even blink.

“Should we even wake him? This is a really bad idea. It'll cause increased-” 

“Just listen to the boss.”

The world plunges into darkness, and the Vagabond doesn't fight it.

\---

“Was that it?” Jack demands, pointing vigorously at one of the doctors. Ryan is completely still- unconscious, but tense as a steel board. They did something to him to make him like that. Cryogenesis, if ‘Edgar’ is to be believed. How do they stop that?

“The bag? Sounds like it. Edgar did mention something about reliance. If he's not lying I could copy the ingredients in that thing.”

“We don't really know if that's it, though.” Ray reasons, quietly. 

“It’s gotta be.”

“He didn't say it was. We need real proof. The wrong drug, with the wrong dose could kill him.” The doctor says, rubbing the back of his head with an all-too pale hand. 

“So, what do we do?”

“We wait for proof.”

\---

They've never done this before, and it's alarming. Edgar doesn't bluff, and he knows that, but it didn't seem real. What had he done to make him this angry? What could constitute grounds for a daily wipe?

He can't remember ever having two wipes within two days. Lester believed that there was a balance to be achieved. Too much, and they'll short him out. Too little, and he won't be effective.

It must not matter, anymore.

“Mouth.” One of the scientists orders. He complies, letting them push the guard between his teeth. He bites down- ever the complacent soldier. No one could ever call the Vagabond disloyal.

The piece drops over his eye, and he waits.

\---

There's a lot to explain, and he doesn't care about any of it. Daily wipes don't matter. Cryo doesn't matter. None of it matters. His head hurts, and he just wants them to put him under. They do with great reluctance.

\---

It goes like this:

Wipe. Explain. Cryo.

Wipe. Explain. Cryo.

Wipe. Explain. Cryo.

And on and on goes the merry go round.

\---

“We can't keep doing this.” She slams her first against the keyboard, and winces as the volume only gets louder. The same explanation they've heard 19 days in a row- word for word. Ryan hasn't asked a single question, since they first put him under, and he's barely even said anything, either. He hasn't moved in the past 19 days, and she's fairly certain that he hasn't thought in a few, either.

“Jack-”

“We should take our risk with that bag. We have to get him out. He’s gonna- He’s gonna fucking die.”

“We need to be sure.” It’s reasonable, and to some extent she can see that. They might need to wait, he’s right, but she doesn’t want to hear that, right now.

“No. We don’t. We need to help him.” The desperation is clearly evident, and she knows that Geoff can tell. He doesn’t comment on it.

“He was fine, before. He can handle it.” He doesn’t care enough. He doesn’t understand. 

He didn’t live with the C Team. He didn’t know Ryan, like she did. He didn’t grow up with him. He didn’t watch him die. He didn’t find him, again. He didn’t like him. He didn’t want to help him. He doesn’t know Ryan. He doesn’t know anything.

“He couldn’t! He was trying-”

“He’s fine. He’ll just have to wait it out.”

It’s not the first time that this has happened. An order to leave Ryan to Hydra. An order to let him suffer. She didn’t follow Hullum’s order, then. Is she expected to, now?

“Two days.”

“It might not-”

“Two days.”

“Fine. Two days,” Geoff pauses, clenches his fists. “But if this backfires, I am not at fault.”

Asshole.

“Fine.”

“Two days. Let’s hope Edgar fucks something up.”

\---

His arm feels strong. It feels powerful, dangerous, intimidating. It feels like it always has. The metal is strong and the flesh is weak.

He doesn’t know why it feels strange to feel strong. He isn’t weak. He has never been weak. He takes down every target, quickly and efficiently. He has always been strong. Weakness does not exist. The Vagabond is strong, period.

He doesn’t listen, as scientists describe a set of consequences that he can’t be bothered to remember. He didn’t do anything, so he doesn’t care. The punishment is for someone else- the fool that wore his skin, before his “retransition” (whatever that means). He’ll take the brunt of it, but it wasn’t him.

The Vagabond doesn’t make mistakes. The old him failed. He deserved to be remade. He deserved this.

The Vagabond will not fail, again.

There is one more hit left- a rich bastard that deserves everything he gets. He contributed to the failure. It’s his fault, and he will pay. He has scanned the file four times- has it memorized.

_ Geoff Ramsey: AKA Iron Man _

_ Latest Known Location- Austin, Texas _

_ Age- 40 _

_ Weapon- Mechanical Suit (EQUIVALENT TO VAGA-ARM) _

_ Powers- Vary. Rockets, Flight, Super Strength (ONLY IN SUIT) _

_ Notes- Suits vary. Suit can short out. Heart regulator keeping him alive (TARGET) _

_ Status- Severe Threat _

He will die. He will die cold, alone, and bloody. He will die, like Burns. The invasion failed, and the Vagabond failed with it. Ramsey will die for that.

There is ice in his veins and steel in his heart, when the world turns into darkness.

\---

“We need to wait until he’s awake. I don’t know what to do about that cryo shit.”

“So we have to wait.”

“If it makes you feel better, he might follow me, if I really am his new target.”

“It doesn’t. Thanks, though.”

\---

Edgar is back. He hasn't addressed the Vagabond, but he is there, and he is still angry. The failure weighs heavy, today.

“How has it been responding?”

The question is addressed to the guards, rather than the scientists. They don't appear to appreciate that, if the rough grip on his fleshy arm is any indication.

“Well, sir. He's listening.”

“And the brain activity?”

“He seems fine.”

There is a click on the guard’s radio, but the man doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Steve?” Edgar tilts his head towards the leading scientist, who jerks at the acknowledgment. He steels himself quickly, but the moment was still there, and they all know it.

“He should be fine for years, if not decades. Cryo is keeping him stable.” Cryo is keeping him stable? Shocking.

“Good. We’ll keep it that way,” he pauses, runs a hand over a bald and scarred skull. He turns back to the soldier. “And Ramsey?”

Somewhere, a door creaks- groans, really. It’s quiet and slow, and only the Vagabond notices it. 

“We can’t find him. We found the archers, but Ramsey’s out of reach.” 

Archers?

“Keep looking. I want him gone, understood?”

Footsteps, now. Distant and almost silent, but they’re there. They’re heavy and strong steps, and he can feel the table vibrating from the force of them. It’s miniscule- something only an asset could feel.

He doesn’t like that word- “asset”. It doesn’t feel like it fits him, much. He isn’t an asset. He’s a soldier. He’s their soldier. Why don’t they acknowledge that?

“Yes, sir.” The soldier- the real soldier- answers. They don’t call him an asset. Why is the Vagabond different? Why is he the one with the metal arm? Why is he the one with cryo and wipes and owners? The other soldiers don’t get that.

“After the Ramsey mission, he’ll take out the archers. Then,” Edgar pauses, thinking something over. His deformed face twists into a frown. “Do you think he can kill the Hulk? Maybe Mogar?”

Mogar! He knows that name! 

He was supposed to kill him. Was that the failure? He couldn’t kill Mogar? No. That doesn’t make sense. Edgar wouldn’t ask if he could finish a hit that he already failed. He would send him out, regardless of ability. He would need to rectify past mistakes.

So what was the failure? Definitely an unsuccessful hit, but against who? And what does Ramsey have to do with it?

“He can definitely get Captain-” The soldier doesn’t get the chance to finish the sentence. The bullet between his eyes is a fitting distraction.

Edgar has a pistol in hand, and fire in his eyes. His teeth are bared, and his knuckles white. He is trying to hide something- he’s done it before. A guard knows something, Edgar doesn’t want someone else knowing it, and suddenly there is another dead body to dispose of. There is always a wipe after, and always an irate Edgar that lasts for days, if not weeks. It works, too. If the man is dead, he can’t say a word.

But it doesn’t matter this time. He shouldn’t have killed him. There was no point. The damage is already done.

He knows that name.

The footsteps are louder this time, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Edgar, Steve, the dead guard, the failure- none of them matter. The only thing that matters is everything- everything that the wipes took from him.

It wasn’t a failure. A failure implies that it did not work out as he intended it to. A failure implies that he did not jump into that water. A failure implies that the Vagabond did not intend to drag her onto that beach. It implies that he didn’t choose to kill Biscuit.

The only failure was ending up back here.

Captain America was not a failure. She was the only success he’d had in decades.

The footsteps are approaching, and even Edgar notices it now. He backs away from the door- pistol raised and aimed at the opening between the Vagabond’s cell and the rest of the world.

The scientists are backing away from him- cowardly and pathetic things that they are. They don't work through it, like Jack did, when she was small. They don’t make it work, like Gavin did with his Paleolithchic weapon. They don't try, like Ray. They just cower and hide and make fools of themselves.

Pathetic.

One of them, the strongest one, grabs hold of the restraint on his arm. He barely has his fingers on the lock, when Edgar starts to scream: “Don’t touch him!” The scientist backs away, without another word.

It's too bad. He might have let that one live. He's almost disappointed. Almost.

“You sounded pretty fine about touching him earlier.” A new voice. A familiar voice. Jack. She's bitter, angry, cold, but it's her. They came back for him. They really came back for him!

Edgar’s finger twitches, but Jack’s shield is there to block the bullets, before he can even fire. They ricochet across the room, striking a thousand different deposit boxes, and the arm of a cowering genius. His brain power couldn't save him from the gunshot, and it couldn't stop him from screaming, either. Bastard sounds like a dying puppy from the sounds he’s making. It's just a graze.

Jack stands between Edgar and the door, and the scarred commander doesn't seem to be too pleased about that. He fires, again and again, until his clip is empty, and every single one strikes metal. Edgar isn't a good shot. Edgar isn't a good anything. He's just an idiot propelled to power by manipulation and an asset. He's not anything more than a power hungry politician.

Edgar drops the gun- raises his arms. A sideways glance at Ryan is all that he grants, and there doesn't seem to be any hope in those angry eyes. Good.

Jack raises a hand to her ear, and presses on the lobe. “I found Ryan. Cell 24-J.”

There is no real indication of who she’s talking to, but it doesn't matter. He's free. She’ll free him. She's saving him. She's doing it.

She finally jumped after him.

She leaves Edgar where he is. Her attention is solely on Ryan.

“They’ve been lying to you.” Her voice is soft, without any trace of the barking anger that she had just directed at his handler. He still thinks it’s weak- to open herself up in front of the enemy- but it’s Jack. He’ll take it. “We aren’t your enemy.”

“No,” He answers, letting a ghost of a grin cross his lips. “You’re here to help me.”

“Ryan?”  She asks, almost desperately. If this wasn’t him, she might have shattered, but it doesn’t matter. This is Ryan. This is her friend. This is her best friend. He knows it more than he knows himself.

Maybe, in another world, it wouldn’t be him. He would snarl, and Edgar would send his attack talk to bite. One more would last forever, and the Vagabond would reign forever. Hydra would reign forever.

This isn’t that world. In this world, this reunion is a relief, because she came back for him! She finally jumped off of that train. They could talk and Ryan could smile, and Jack could laugh.

This is the happy ending.

In this world, Ryan says “Sir, yes, sir.”

Her shoulders slump, relieved. It’s like a thousand pounds of pressure fell off of her back, and she can fly, again. He kind of wants that, too. A single tug at his restraints has Jack ordering a scientist to free him.

It’s almost nice watching Steve squirm. He bares his teeth, when the man comes near, and the whimper has Ryan basking in his fear.

It barely takes a few seconds to remove every last binding, and when they’re gone, Ryan pushes himself away from the table. Steve flinches, but it’s too late. Ryan’s hand- the metal one- is around his neck, before he can blink.

“Nice change of pace, huh?” He growls, while the frantic doctor tugs uselessly at the strangling grip.

“Ryan, stop,” Jack orders. “We don’t hurt people.”

“You don’t,” he corrects, locking eyes with his newest victim. “They do. I do.”

“You don’t have to.”

For a second, he clenches his fingers even further. Steve whimpers, again, but it isn’t as sweet this time. He lets go, and the man falls to the ground with a loud thud.

“What do we do with them, then?” A cursory glance at Edgar has him clenching his fists. Ryan is the one to flinch away.

“They’ll be locked away for the rest of their lives.” She makes it sound like it’s such a fair punishment. It isn’t. 

“That’s it?” How many years does Edgar have left? 40? Maybe 50? They took 70 from him! They took everything from him. They made him take away so many lives- people he knew, people he loved. All they’re going to get is life? That isn’t fair. That isn’t just.

They deserve torture. They deserve suffering. They deserve everything that he had and more. This isn’t right.

“That's it.”

“You're just gonna let that be it? They just get away with it? They should  _ burn. _ ”

“They deserve a trial.”

“They don't deserve anything. Maybe death, if they're lucky.” His words are closer to snarls, and it hurts Jack’s heart to hear. He doesn't care.

“Ryan, you don't need to hurt anyone, anymore. Don't put yourself in that position.”

“They put me here. I should've been like you,” his fists are clenched so hard that a wire in his hand snaps. “A war hero. A good guy. They took that from me.”

“I know,” soft, soft, soft! Always so fucking soft! “But you still are. You can still be good, Rye.”

“No, I killed the heroes. I killed the good guys. That was me,” he turns to glare at the cowering men. “And it was because of  _ you _ .”

They're smart enough to stay silent.

“Ryan, if you want to put this behind you, you need to start now. It's only going to get harder.”

It's always been hard. The Vagabond isn't meant to be a pacifist. Ryan Haywood wasn't even meant for that! He's a sniper, a fighter, a mercenary, a murderer, a psychopath, a lunatic, and a thousand other titles that the world has thrust upon him.

He can't get rid of that. He can't just throw it away, because his friend tells him to. It's his nature. It's what the world handed him- what his country handed him, when that letter ended up on his doorstep.

A draftee forced into a war that would soon consume him. A civilian, turned sniper, turned Nazi science experiment. It isn't an easy moniker to shed. It never has been. Hell, most of the time he never even cared. This is all a new development.

Does he even want to change? Yes, definitely. He doesn't want to be under Hydra’s thumb for the rest of his life. God, that would be a hell unknown to man.

But he doesn't want to lose it completely, either. It's who he is, now. He's a killer, plain and simple. Anyone denying that is a fool and a naive idiot. The Vagabond and Ryan Haywood are one and the same. He can't kill one, without killing the other. Jack doesn't understand.

“What's your name?” Jack asks, when it becomes clear that he isn't planning on responding.

“Ryan.” He answers, simply. In the corner, Edgar twitches, suddenly interested. He must not have realized the full extent of his failure.

High hopes. Luckily, they're dashed.

“Would Ryan have hurt them?” A simple question, with a simpler answer.

“I don't- no. No, he wouldn't have.”

“So why should you?”

And there it goes. The proverbial knife slips out of his grip, and he lets his taunt shoulders relax. She's right. She's painfully, unquestionably right. The Vagabond wouldn't go it, either.

A hand grips his shoulder and squeezes. Jack. He lets her.

“Should I clap, now?” Edgar has his back pressed up against the wall, and he sits with his legs spread out. His red arms are clasped behind his head- the picture of apathetic relaxation. “Really, very touching. I feel like we should all clap, what do you say? Steve?” The scientist tenses. “Others? Really, nothing? Come on, guys, it's so sweet.” The sarcasm drips from his tongue like nectar.

Ryan can feel his shoulders tense, again. Jack’s grip only gets tighter, but it doesn't matter, now. She's irrelevant. It's just Edgar. Defenseless, worthless Edgar, and he can't even hurt him. Life isn't fair.

“Shut your mouth.” He demands. He feels like his bite has devolved into bark, and he doesn't like it.

“Excuse me?” His barely-there eyebrows raise tremendously. “What did you say to me?”

Ryan doesn't answer- doesn't feel like he needs to. Edgar doesn't agree.

“Hey-” Jack tries. It isn't enough, and Edgar just talks over her.

“I asked you a question.” And it feels like a slap, because that's usually what that phrase is preceded by. A hard hit to the jaw, or stomach, or eye, or whatever Edgar is feeling like that day.

He stills- doesn't even realize that he'd done it. The phrase “Yes, sir” escapes his lips, before he can stop it. 

Jack stalks angrily over to the man, and has her hand on his collar, before he can even respond. Even as she drags him into the air, he has that stupid half smile strewn across his mutilated face. 

“Stop talking.”

“Answer my question.” Edgar says, with a grin. Smug, prideful, and self-assured. Neither of them return it.

“I said ‘shut your mouth.’”

“Good job. See, he listens! I'm so proud.” The sarcasm is getting thicker.

“Shut up.” Jack orders. The other man nods, but the smile remains.

He’ll listen to Jack, but not Ryan. Anyone but Ryan. And why? Is he not threatening enough? Does he not scare him enough? Is he too much bark? Does he really think that the Vagabond failed? Or is this some sort of ploy? He doesn't know and he doesn't particularly want to, either. He has a feeling that the answer isn't going to be one that he likes.

“You're going away for life, buddy.” Jack snaps, dropping him like a hot potato. He falls limply to the ground- doesn't bother to catch himself.

Edgar still doesn't respond. He glances at Ryan, but the former mercenary pretends that he doesn't notice. 

“How do you know someone won't get him out? He's influential. He might have an in.” Ryan observes.

“What? You want to kill me?” Edgar asks, like it’s a joke- like Ryan is a kicked puppy, instead of a poked bear. “Who's gonna do it? You?” A sharp laugh. “Good one.”

“Shut up.” Ryan orders, relishing in the feeling of controlling Edgar, if only for a second. It doesn't even last a second.

His mood flips immediately. “You don't order me, Vagabond.” His voice is stern, angry. It’s reminiscent of a few hours- days- weeks (is that how long it was?) ago, when they found him, again. When there was a needle in his arm and clarity in his mind.

It's reflex that has him saying “Yes, sir” before he can even what he’s saying.

“What are you doing?” Jack is angry, now, too. Her mask is shadowing her eyes, and it only makes him long for his own. He wants it to shut him up. The Vagabond doesn't talk. The Vagabond doesn't fuck up like that. It was Ryan, who remembered Jack. It was Ryan, who saved her life. It was Ryan, who helped Gavin.

It is Ryan, who lowers his head, now, as Jack goes mad.

"You need to shut up," It comes out as a snarl, low and untamed. If Ryan is the poked bear, then Jack is the sleeping giant, and that giant is angry. The star on her chest reflects the fire in her eyes, and the rage flooding into her tightly clenched fists reflects so much worse. "Shut your annoying goddamn mouth!"

"I'm sorry," Edgar says, softly. It isn't like Jack's softness. It's careful, calculated, and edged by the thin smirk that disfigures his face. "I have to control my asset. It's difficult to keep it in line. You understand, right? I mean, you managed to do it."

Ryan has never seen Jack so angry. Her veins are practically ripping themselves out of her forehead, and her shaking limbs can't be helping any. She takes a half step towards Edgar, with her teeth bared and eyebrows so furrowed that her eyes are barely even noticeable.

Why? It doesn't make any sense. She shouldn't be getting this angry. Jack is the calm one. Jack is the relaxed one. Jack is the one who, when his fingers were tightening around her neck, could only say "I don't blame you." Jack is the one that didn't scream, when he fell of of that train. Jack is the one that wasn't even angry, when she found him in that lab, before Ryan's name became another way to say "Vagabond".

She shouldn't be angry. She's never angry.

Her hand reaches for her ear, pressing in on some unseen force. Maybe a vein burst and it hurts? He doesn't know, and he doesn't really understand it.

"Geoff, I'm going to need you here, asap. Where are you?"

There is no response that he can hear, but maybe there is an earpiece involved? He had that a couple times. It's uncomfortable, and he never really bothered to report anything it. Still, it might be more helpful to her than it was to him. She actually seems to be using it, at least.

There are footsteps down the hallway, but they seem to be more urgent than Jack’s were. They’re heavier, a thousand pounds of metal weighing down on the concrete floors. Geoff came, too?

Before he can get there, Jack has Edgar pushed against the table. Edgar bend backwards, head touching the flat surface, and feet touching the ground. He looks like he’s in pain, but Jack is too blinded by her rage to care.

“What are you gonna do?” Edgar asks, low and proud. He isn’t afraid- never was. He’s always been two steps ahead of everyone else.

“I don’t know.” Jack practically snarls. The response pulls a laugh out of Edgar. He shakes his head, oblivious to the world.

Ryan wonders what his plan is this time. 

Ramsey wanders into the room, but Jack doesn't even notice. He carefully approaches, eyes darting between Ryan, Jack, and the pinned Nazi.

“Put him down, Jack,” The metal man warns. He rests one hand on her shoulder, and the other hovers tentatively by his side. “Douchebag’s gonna get what he deserves, later. For now, we just need to set him down nice and gentle.”

It's so eerily similar to the way that Jack speaks to Ryan- like a hero trying to calm down an angry tiger. It's almost weird to hear that come out of Geoff’s mouth. Can Geoff even be soft?

Jack obeys the command, dropping Edgar for the second time. The man catches himself, and proceeds to brush the dust off of his suit jacket. Pretentious dick.

“Geoff Ramsey, I presume?” Edgar asks, calmly. He runs a hand through the few strands of hair that remain on his burned skull.

“Listen, dickbag, no one here is on your side. Cut the fucking shit.”

“No one’s on my side?” A glance at Ryan. “I wouldn't say that.” 

Ryan doesn't respond, but Jack shakes her head. “You’re going away.”

“Alright,” Edgar grins. He holds out his wrists, pinned together for them. “Who’ll do the honors? The Vagabond?”

What?

“Yeah,” He doesn't even give Ryan a chance. He has a pair of handcuffs bound to his belt, but he is quick to lock them onto Edgar’s hands. “Go fuck yourself.”

“You going to deliver him, Geoff?” Jack asks, just to distract herself. Her nails are digging red crescents into the palm of her hand.

“Yeah. Asshole could use a fucking flight.” And just like that, hands gripping tightly to the hem of Edgar’s shirt and the chains of his handcuffs, Geoff takes off. 

The ceiling shatters, green smoke fills the room, and paint chips rain down, but it  doesn't matter. Edgar is gone. Edgar is the one in chains this time.

This is a nice change of pace.

“Come on, Ryan,” Jack says, letting her hand fall onto his shoulder. “I want to get out of here.”

“What about them?” He asks, staring at the scientists on the ground. One of them flinches- hoping he’d forgotten them. Idiot.

“Gavin knows we’re here. He’ll wrangle them,” her fingers dance over the bag of yellow stuff, before she finally reaches out and grabs it. “For now,” she trails off, again. It takes her a moment to finally get back on track. “Let's get you home.”

“Is there a mountain on the way?” He tries, a small attempt at a joke.

“Fuck you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don't call me that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He feels like a new person. He feels good. A weight has been taken off of his back, because someone came after him. Someone leapt off that cliff. Someone chose him over the mission, and not just because of some selfish ideology.

Jack jumped. Geoff jumped. Gavin and Meg, too, apparently. Michael, Ray, and Lindsay, probably. They all jumped. They all took the plunge into the snow. They all woke up, and carried him out.

His arm is still there, but the rest of him is free. That's enough for him.

His head still hurts, but his mind is clear, now. This is enough. This is good.

These aren't the bad guys. These are the guys who rescued him, and yet he shoved them away a million times over. He hurt Jack. He hurt Meg. He hurt Caleb. He hurt Lindsay. He almost hurt Gavin. He tried to hurt Geoff. He wants to make up for that. 

He still can.

“Jack?” He asks, tongue heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Is your offer still open?”

“What offer?” Genuinely confused. 

“Being a Hunter. I reconsidered. I, uh, I want to help.”

He’ll never forget her face at that moment. The combination of pride, shock, confusion, and excitement that practically illuminates her wide grin. An arm drops onto his shoulder, and Jack leans into him, letting out a relieved laugh. It's soft and it's light, but it's music to his ears.


	10. Rising- Rising- Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning- Welcome to the Epilogue. It took about ten months to get here. Damn.

It's been a while. Long enough that he doesn't really bother counting the days, anymore. Nowadays, he counts by month. The daily tallies, scratched like stripes into his metal arm, take up most of his forearm, now. His knuckles, too, are scratched with the amount of months he's been free. Fourteen lines. A year and two months.

The face paint won't really wash away, nowadays. Even when he's in civvies, red, white, and black stains his skin in that old familiar logo. Even now, as he watches Geoff toy with his metal arm, his face is completely covered in color. The only thing separating him from the Vagabond- the new Vagabond,  the Hunter- is the absence of his domino mask. It’s somewhere in his belt, amidst a thousand gadgets that Geoff reluctantly handed over.

And really, what's wrong with Geoff, today? His hair is practically glued in place. It's ridiculous.

“Used a little too much hair gel, huh?” He smirks.

Jack may be engrossed in her book, but even she looks up at that. She, too, is smirking, but it seems to be for a very different reason.

“Probably probably not the best idea to make fun of his hair gel usage while he’s fixing the robo-arm.” She warns.

There's a spark that shoots through the limb, a second later. It isn't an accident. Geoff's just an asshole.

Geoff grumbles something about how he’ll have to fix that, too. Ryan really doesn't give a shit.

“Besides,” Jack continues. “You used to use a shit ton of product. Hypocrite.”

It doesn't sting like it should, when he's reminded of ‘before’. It's a pressure, now, rather than a blow. The memories simply sting, instead of stab. It's still there- still an open wound that is red and throbbing- but the wound closing. Every mission, every comment, every life saved- it's all slowly filling that dark pit of emptiness, where Ryan Haywood once lived.

He kept the Vagabond’s mantle, but he isn't that man, anymore. He's the hero, now. He's the good man. He's helping people. The Vagabond is just a vague show of dramatic irony. Ryan is the person, again. He's making his comeback. The Vagabond is the one being shoved into that hole. Ryan is taking over the rest.

Geoff steps back, brushes the dirt off of his hands. Ryan hadn't even noticed that he finished.

“How’s it feeling?” The metal man asks, pocketing a few of the smaller tools.

Ryan flexes his fingers, and grins at the instant response. He hadn't even noticed the slow degradation in movement. It feels good, now. The instant he commands it, a finger twitches. It's nice to have so quick a response. Oh course, he wouldn't say that to Geoff. “Eh. I could've done it better.”

“Yeah?” Geoff asks, face straight as a line. He digs his hands back into his pocket to retrieve his tools. Within a moment, they are sprawled across the table, and Ryan is staring at a ridiculous amount of tools. One of them was large and sharp and-  _is that a saw?_  “You do it, then.” Apparently he stares at it for too long, because Geoff says “checkmate!” before he can respond.

It doesn't really matter. He wasn't going to do it, anyway.

Jack sets down her book- a new novel that she won't stop talking about. It's something about the life of a teenager and their expulsion from school. He tried to read it, once, but it's too awful to sit through. Why should he care about some pretentious fucking whining brat, who can't handle a little responsibility? J. D. Salinger can suck his dick.

“You might want to stop talking, before he takes it apart, again.” She warns. She’s smiling, and that’s still a strange sight to see, even after this past year. He’d gone so long without seeing it. It’s relieving, now.

“I’d also like to remind that I won the arm wrestling thing.” Geoff butts in.

“You won the robo-arm wrestling. I seem to remember winning the normal one.”

He picks up one of the smaller tools, and twirls it between his fingers. It’s clunky at first, but before long, it’s moving faster than he can track. His hand-eye coordination is probably back up to 95%. It won’t be 100, again, not until Geoff builds him a new one. Apparently, the plans for his arm burned with the rest of Hydra. It’s disappointing, sure, but he can work with disappointing. As long as he can do his job, all’s good.

“How’s it feel?” A pause. “The, uh, the arm. How’s the arm feel?”

“Feels like it can beat yours.”

Jack glances down at her phone for a moment, and lets out a sigh. They’ve had this argument a few times before. She’s probably getting sick of it.

“Is that a challenge?” Geoff demands, puffing up his chest. He raises an eyebrow as high as it can go. The grin on his face reads “I dare you”.

But before Ryan can respond, Jack is stepping between them, holding up her phone. “I don’t think we have the time. Gavin says there’s an incident a few blocks away.”

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

\---

As it turns out, “the incident” is a giant green lizard-man in a dress shirt and thigh highs. Yeah, the bad guys have been getting steadily shittier. All the good villains are gone. Now, it seems they're stuck with the shitty ones.

Gavin hasn't shot him yet, and Ryan doesn't really understand why. There is a considerable trail of destruction behind the 14 foot lizard-man. Overturned cars, broken windows, and dents in the surrounding skyscrapers greet them. A few police cars are scattered throughout the area. Luckily, the occupants are long gone.

The Hunters are fast approaching the area; Jack and Geoff lead the herd.

Jack is planning, before the creature has even noticed them. “Vagabond, Iron, get his attention. Everyone else, with me.” Everyone else means the Hawkeyes and Caleb- Ray is back in Puerto Rico to “get in touch with the Hulk”, because that makes sense. Michael and Lindsay are halfway across the world on a mission in Russia that Ryan was not invited to. They're all still afraid that Ryan might see the Russian snow and morph back into the Vagabond that he used to be. It's stupid, but it isn't his place to complain. Especially not when he had a job to do.

There's a chorus of affirmation, before Jack moves. She flanks behind the giant, and the Hawkeyes train their arrows on the lizard’s back. Caleb flies overhead- out of the lizard’s sight. Silver wings fling through the air, cutting through the wind and leaving trails of smoke behind.

God, it felt weird enough to zipline. Flying must be awful. Nothing to hold her up, and nothing to support her if she falls. One bad move and she goes splat.

Then again, she had a parachute, before. When he ripped off the wing, she just glided back down. So, she’ll probably be fine. All’s good.

Wait, no, all is not good. She could still fall. Parachutes screw up. People fall. They fall, and the enemy finds them, and they get a new arm and a new name, and they become a new man, a worse man. A man with guns and rockets and-

 _Stop. Focus_.

The others are moving, already. He follows, only a few steps behind. His knife is in hand, but he yearns for his semi. It's somewhere in the tower. Jack won't tell him where.

He has an auto rifle, but it isn't the same. The trigger doesn't have the same pull. The metal isn't as worn. The recoil isn't as smooth. The scratches aren't the same. Besides, he knows that Geoff can stop it remotely, if he goes rogue. He's taken apart this gun too many times to not notice it. He can't remove it- Geoff would notice if he did. He just has to keep working with a gun that isn't his and isn't meant to be is.

He isn't comfortable with it. It's too much like Hydra’s backup plan. A drug in his system to keep him complacent. Faulty weaponry isn't much different. It's a method to keep him under their thumb. He doesn't like it.

But hey, at least he has his knife. It's too bad he can't use it, now. This guy is too big to stab. He’ll have to stick with the auto.

It's a split second decision, so he's firing, before the lizard can even react. He aims for the torso and every single bullet strikes home. For all he wants to celebrate, it isn't enough. The shots ricochet off of thick scales. Ryan has to duck back to avoid the redirected bullets.

“How dare you strike at Phil?” The giant- Phil, apparently- roars. It turns to Ryan, taking just two long steps that bring it to inches away from the human. “Phil will destroy you!”

Shit.

Ryan takes a few steps back, but the lizard is faster. It launches towards him, already bringing down a gigantic clawed fist. Ryan barely rolls out of the way of the blow. Apparently, giants move fast. Great. It’s as if fighting a giant bullet resistant bad guy didn’t already stack the plate against them.

He resorts to ducking every one of the powerful blows. If he needs to be a distraction, he can manage that.

He doesn’t expect backup from Geoff. It’s instinct at this point to go at it alone. Bide time, until he can find an opening. He’s waiting for the snipers to take a shot. He’s waiting for a merc to hand him his semi. He’s waiting for the earpiece to tell him to kill.

He has an earpiece, but all it says is “I’ll take it from here, Vagabond.”

A green and black blur darts over his head. The lizard stumbles back, struck from an unseen blow. He roars, waving his arms towards the sky. Geoff doesn’t even have to dodge the blow. Green beams shoot from his hands, and the shining green star on his chest glows brighter than ever. The metal man flies over Phil’s head, farther than his gigantic arms can reach.

“Watch and learn.” Geoff taunts.

He drops lower, until he is only a few feet from the ground. One laser burst, then another. The scales deflect those hits too, but it is enough to annoy the beast. The green skin is singed, and the golden hair on the beast’s skull burns. The fire spreads fast, and easily burns away any remnant of the locks.

“Can’t say I like the haircut,” Ryan comments. Phil turns two angry black eyes to the metal man above him. The creature is shaking with rage. That isn’t gonna be fun. “Don’t think he does, either.”

With another ear splitting screech, Phil launches forward. He’s even faster than before, moving faster than Quicksilver on a good day. One hand catches hold of Geoff’s leg, before the metal man could escape. The additional weight brings Geoff crashing to the ground.

There’s a split second, where it looks like Geoff might not be getting up again. He’s still, doesn’t fight the furious hand from dragging him back into the air. He goes back down, without a word. Ryan’s pretty sure he can hear a crack, and he hopes it’s just metal.

Geoff still doesn’t move, but he lets out a low groan. That's confirmation enough that he's not dead.

“Vagabond, you wanna take it from here?” He whines. His voice cracks.

“You sure?” Ryan asks. He’s already moving, but he has to rub it in. “Cause I was just watching and learning. Should I do that, too?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He’ll use the knife this time. Fuck that auto rifle. It doesn’t work, anyway. He might be able to do some degree of damage with his blade.

He charges forward, wielding his weapon in his fleshy arm. The other he holds stiffly in front of him. When he collides with the giant, he has all of his own weight and the weight of the metal arm with him. Hopefully that’s enough.

It is.

He pushes Phil against a wall, and away from Geoff. The man manages to launch away, but his suit is trailing smoke. Shit, Phil can hit pretty damn hard. This probably isn’t going to be much fun.

He switches hands, and tries to stab the blade between Phil’s scales. It doesn’t work, and the knife only casts a glancing blow. He steals himself, while the giant recovers from the hit. He needs to hit again, before the lizard can retaliate.

He tries again, and forces his arm to exert all of the pressure that it can. Wires whir and air escapes the pores, but the knife pushes forward with enough force to kill an elephant. It should be enough to shatter that scale. It should-

His fist collides with a wall of green. For a moment he’s confused. He went to stab, not hit. Did he drop the knife? No, that doesn’t make sense. He can feel the hilt between his fingers. He glances down and sighs.

Steel shards decorate the ground. The knife completely shattered. God, it didn’t even wear down. 70 years and nothing but scraps. One alien/mutation/thing, and suddenly the damn thing is gone. God dammit.

And his knuckles _hurt_. There are sparks coming from somewhere inside- he can feel them and see them. He tries to unclench his fingers, but they don’t respond. That isn’t good. That definitely isn’t good. If there’s anything that is less good, he hasn’t come across it, yet. 

Fuck, he just had this thing fixed.

They stare at each other for a moment. Predator watches prey, and prey prepares to shit his pants. His knife is gone, his hand isn’t working, and this thing is angry. Shit. This is it. Bye-bye, Ryan. It’s been a pretty shitty ride.

Except, the predator doesn’t strike and the Vagabond doesn’t die. There is no sudden, painful end. There is only an arrow stuck between two of Phil’s scales, and a mighty roar from the beast’s mouth.

“Oh, shut your damn mouth.” Gavin mutters into Ryan’s ear. Another arrow strikes another weak point, seconds later.

“Get out of there, Vagabond.” Jack orders. He doesn't hesitate. If his arm isn't working, he's not going to be much of a help.

Another arrow strikes home, and this one isn't some regular arrow. It pierced through the skin, and moments later erupts. Somehow, one of the archers managed to stuff an explosive into an arrowhead. It's strong, but somehow only enough to shatter one of the scales, but Phil screeches like a dying puppy. Good. Damn thing deserves it. Thank god for the Hawkeyes.

Scratch that- thank god for Meg. She's the one celebrating the hit, after all.

Geoff is back up, racing towards the fighting with an unexpected ferocity. The smoke has faded away, but it seems like the rage has not. When he fires his lasers, he does so for vengeance.

“Caleb, we’re gonna need backup.” Jack orders.

Caleb comes into view as silver wings cut through the air. He has one hand on his earpiece, and the other holding onto his left wing. His feet are spread below him, like an eagle reaching for a mouse. The mouse has yet to notice him.

Ryan has his auto in hand- his left hand, the weaker hand. He’s trained it to shoot, but it doesn’t have the same impeccable aim as his right. He could probably do fine with the semi, but he doesn’t trust himself with the auto. He isn’t going to shoot, when Caleb is so close to the enemy. He might have, if it was just some ordinary merc, but he knows Caleb. He can’t take that risk, while the entire team is watching.

He tries to twitch his arm, but it refuses to respond. It still hurts, a lot, which is probably a good sign. Something might still be kicking in there. The artificial nerves seem to be running at 100%. He’d prefer it if it was something else working, but it doesn’t matter. If something is still running, it can be fixed.

But it means that that those scales are stronger than his hand. It’s some sort of metal that’s stronger than the strongest material on Earth. That’s important. That’s really really important.

Jack’s shield is made of the same stuff as his arm. Jack might have to sit this out, too. Shit, someone needs to tell her. She could get herself killed with this guy.

“Captain,” he reports. “I think he broke my arm.”

“The metal one?” Gavin asks.

“Yeah.”

“Dude’s stronger than vibranium?” It’s Geoff, this time. Still no confirmation from Jack. That’s a little worrisome. Is she listening? She needs to be listening.

“Yeah.”

“Remind me not to punch him.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jack, finally, acknowledges. “Are you alright?”

"I'm still active.” Ryan answers. Caleb is still circling Phil’s head, but when she’s gone, Ryan can take the shot. He’s fine.

“Maybe you should sit this one out.”

“I’ve had worse.” It’s isn’t exactly a lie. He’d fought through a few missions with an active EMP. On a few different occasions, he had been the one to set it off.  That hadn't been fun. In the end, he took a bullet to the shoulder and had a knife dangerously close to his neck. Still, Hullum went down, and the Vagabond got his arm back. If he got through that, he could get through this.

“You sure?”

He doesn’t bother to respond. He isn’t going to waste the time. Phil is already swatting at Caleb’s legs. She’s an efficient distraction, but it will get bored.

He only has one working arm, so shooting will be a little difficult. He can work with it, though. He holds up his broken arm and rests the rifle on top of it. There should be enough stability to keep the gun from recoiling too much. It’ll be a weird angle to shoot from, but he can manage. As long as he can help the archers, it’ll be enough.

Caleb swings upward, moments later. It’s probably going to be the best chance he can get, so Ryan fires.

Bullets rain down on the screeching lizard, without abandon. The recoil is still awful, but he manages to keep it somewhat steady. He’s aiming for the broken scale, and a few of the shots manage to catch it, but not many. It’s his weaker hand wielding a gun that he isn’t used to. He couldn’t have expected much.

Besides, he’s a distraction, isn’t he? He isn’t meant to cause too much damage.

“What’s the plan, again?” He asks, when the giant turns its wide eyes to him.

“Hopefully not dying?” Caleb cuts in. She shouldn’t be complaining. Phil isn’t focused on her, anymore.

“Hawkeyes can handle him. Just keep him from noticing.”

He’s doing a fair job of that. The lizard is already racing towards him, reaching out with dangerously clawed hands. He tries to dodge the blow, but Phil is faster than he is. A claw catches on his collar, and, rather than tear through it, it catches hold. He’s pulled off of his feet, ripped away like a ragdoll. He’s still trying to run, when he starts to fly.

Goddammit, he hates not having his feet on the ground. Heights are fine, but flying isn’t. And falling is something awful. This is not good!

He clings to the auto rifle. It might be shit, but it could save his life in the right circumstance. Hell, if Phil is stupid enough to let a bullet kill him, he deserves it.

“Vagabond, you’re blocking my shot.” Gavin whines.

“I'm fucking sorry!” He exclaims in response.

“Apology not accepted. You sound a little sarcastic, Ryan.”

He tries to shake himself free of the firm grip, but it isn't budging. He's already twelve feet in the air, and rising fast. Phil is gonna slam him down, like he did to Geoff. Ryan doesn't have a metal suit to protect him. This is not going to end well.

He slips one arm out of his jacket, and feels himself tilt to the side. His other arm slides away instantly and suddenly Ryan is falling, leaving the thick leather coat behind in Phil’s tight grip.  A few seconds later, he's rolling on the ground and facing the monster, again.

“Someone owes me a new coat,” and after a moment of thought, “And a knife.”

“Hey, we weren't the ones he caught. Pay for your own shit!” Thanks Meg. Always so incredibly helpful and supportive.

Oppressive bitch.

Geoff fires a blast at Phil’s head, but the lizard doesn't seem to care. He has finally chosen his victim, and it isn't Iron Man, Falcon, or anyone who can actually fight back. No, of course not, because the Vagabond isn't allowed to have a break.

The beast pursues him, blind to the arrows raining down on him, and the lasers burning at his scales. He's blind to the Caleb, who takes careful consideration not to actually kick him. Hell, he's even blind to the bullets that Ryan sends his way.

He picked the wrong guy to piss off.

The claws tear holes into the concrete, whenever Ryan dodges away from one. His stomping feet cracks the ground. His unending roars shatter whatever glass windows haven't already been broken.

“I can use some backup, here.” He exclaims, loudly.

An arrow lodges itself between Phil’s claw and the rest of his finger. Phil lets out a loud, resounding screech that burns Ryan’s ears. Phil takes a threatening step forward, but six separate projectiles catch him, before he can. He stumbles back, and more shots rein down on him. He tries to bat them away, but the archers seem to have accounted for that. Every arrow ends up stuck between the scales of his arm.

“Aim for the eyes.” Jack orders. She’s around somewhere, hiding behind a concrete barricade that will provide little resistance to Phil’s attacks. Hopefully she can find a safer spot. Ryan certainly hasn’t been able to.

While Jack’s warning may not be directed to him, he heeds it, anyway. He might be able to catch a few hits with the auto, if everything goes right.

The first few shots ricochets off of Phil’s skull. He shifts, dropping his arm to reangle the gun. The bullets strike scale after scale. His face is littered with faint dents, when the last bullet leaves the chamber.

He feels that familiar tug, as he pulls at the useless trigger. It's done He isn’t going to have time to reload, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to. A quick prod at his belt dismisses that idea. He forgot to bring reserves.

Of all the stupid mistakes, that has to be the one he makes. He’s practically useless, now. No gun, no knife, no arm. In the past, he might have taken a backup weapon, but Geoff hasn’t approved a different weapon. He has the auto and the knife- scratch that, he _had_ the auto and the knife.

Phil is thrashing, obviously disturbed by the few shots that managed to penetrate his skin. A few of the arrows, still embedded between his scales, break off as he crashes against a building. He’s heading towards Geoff, obviously disinterested with the now-pointless Vagabond.

“I can’t get a clear shot.” Gavin complains.

“You’ve got one chance at this,” Meg warns. Her confidence quickly dissipates. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.

“You think? Now there’s pressure!”

“Take the fucking shot.” Geoff snaps. A clawed hand reaches dangerously close to his leg. The metal man lets out a surprisingly characteristic screech.

The arrow is lodged in Phil’s eye moments later. It catches on part of the inner socket- not enough force to break through the bone. It’s a gruesome sight, with Phil roaring and clawing at the open wound. Bright red blood squirts out, staining the rest of Phil’s face. The giant falls back into the wall, as it swipes at its face, but the arrow is too embedded to snap off easily. It’ll take force, if he really wants to get it out, and he might be too hurt to try.

He’s a lizard. He’s probably too stupid to rip it out.

“Why isn’t he down?” Jack asks. “Gavin, why isn’t he down?”

The response is slow to come. No one is happy, when it does.

“I may have, er, forgotten to set the charge.”

“You what?” Geoff exclaims, waving his arms like an enraged sloth. The movement directs him back, away from the lizard man. That’s probably for the best.

“How do you set them?” Jack says, not wasting any time pointing fingers. There is a situation at hand, and she isn’t going to let it get worse, because of bickering. They can fight later. Right now, they have to win.

“I add a piece to it. It goes on the feathery part.”

“Give it to me,” moments later- “Ryan, I’m coming to you.”

There isn’t much time to wait. Jack is by his side, almost instantly. She must have been on a ground level nearby to get there so quickly. In any other circumstance, Ryan might have been surprised, but it’s Jack. She has a habit of being where she needs to be.

She has her shield in one hand, and with the other, she presses a small metal piece against his palm. She doesn’t even have to brief him on the plan- they’ve done this a few times, before. 

Why Jack didn’t make Caleb do this, he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t matter. He has a job to do. He can complain, later.

Jack sets one knee onto the ground and turns herself, so that her side faces Ryan. She kneels between the Vagabond and Phil, ready to launch at any moment. He only has one shot at this. One swipe from the giant would probably kill him.

He starts sprinting, before he can even think about it. It isn’t long before he’s on the shield, and with a forceful push from Jack, he’s flying.

There is no ground beneath his feet. There is no line to hold onto. There is only the wind and the falling.

He’s falling off of that train car all over again. There’s pain in his right arm, air on all directions, and a scream that desperately wants to tear itself out of his throat. His heart is racing, practically tearing out of his chest. He can’t move his arm, and for some reason, that is the worst part of it. Jack is nearby, and his arm is screaming, and he is tumbling into the enemy’s arms.

There is nothing he can do, and even less to think about. There is only the wind and the pain.

Landing is the only thing that brings him back to the present. His feet on solid ground, his arm balanced against a steel wall.

And that isn’t a wall is it? That’s a head. That’s Phil’s head. And the ground is his shoulder. A shoulder that Ryan is very precariously hanging off of.

The arrow is within reach, and when Ryan puts his palm against it, the charge immediately connects with the feather thing. He shouldn’t be surprised. Gavin is too lazy to go for anything, except magnetic.

This time, he jumps. Somehow, that feels different to falling. One is a choice- a very deliberate leap into the abyss below. The other is unconscious- a descent into the unknown world that will swallow him whole, and spit him out in pieces. One arm gone, one mind ripped away. It's probably best not to think about that.

The explosion is small. He doesn’t even notice it, at first. He only realizes that it succeeded, when he hears the excited chattering over the mics. Geoff and Gavin, somehow already fighting. Jack, congratulating the team on their effort. Meg, attacking the process of the launch. Caleb, silent on the mics, but smiling in the sky.

He’s going to need to find a way to get his semi and his knife back, and he’s going to need major work on his arm, but he can ignore it for a time. After all, he can’t just let Meg’s comments slide, can he?

\---

Geoff has his hands inside Ryan’s hand for the second time that day. The work is painless, thanks to Geoff’s tinkering. He’d never known that the feeling in his arm could be removed. It isn’t a thought that he particularly likes, but he can work with it. If it makes the process easier, he’d prefer that.

“Do you want me to use the lizard guy’s scales on your arm?” Geoff asks, as he removes yet another panel. His voice is of a higher pitch than normal- usually an indication of a joke, but Ryan can’t be sure. He isn’t going to play along, if Geoff’s serious.

“What?”

“It’s bulletproof. I think that would be pretty damn cool.”

“It’s already bulletproof.”

“But those things are better than bulletproof! They kicked the shit out of you!”

Thanks for the reminder. “I think I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. That thing’s gonna be on my suit,” a pause. “S.H.I.E.L.A., put it on my suit.”

\---

They ask him questions, sometimes. He has to recall memories, incidents, hits. A lot of his targets died in “accidents”, according to the records. Jack wants to rectify that. Sorola, Hullum, Dooley, Bragg, Shadles, and many, many others have already been reassessed. It’s an annoying process, but it’s important to Jack, so it’s important to Ryan.

Jack asked him how many people he’d killed- claimed that S.H.I.E.L.D. had him logged at about 200. They underestimated him. He hadn’t expected that.

In the first six years, he remembered 100 people. 300 faces, and 100 names. They showed him file after file of suspicious deaths. A lot of them were his.

So it went for nearly a year and a half. It was smooth sailing, easy going. He's almost glad that it changed.

It’s been two weeks, since he remembered a name. There are more- he knows that. There’s too many more, actually. In the beginning of his tenure as the Vagabond, he made a concentrated effort to remember them. Even between wipes, he would try to think of the faces and the names and the hits.

As his humanity went, so did the rest of it. The last name he can remember- Drago N. Face. Everything after that is gone. He never focused on it, and he never gave more than half of a shit about anything.

Edgar knows most of them. They were all personal enemies of Hydra. Activists, heroes, soldiers, world leaders. Anyone and everyone, who opposed Hydra, was met with a skull face at three in the morning on a Tuesday.

He was most active when Russia was collapsing. It was after the War, when everyday was a new mission, and he took down too many people in too short a time. The Cold War wasn't too cold for the Vagabond.

They wanted mutually assured destruction- he knows that now. It wasn't just Americans that he took down, but Soviets, too. They didn't want him to hide anything, or to cover it up. Every hit had to be a message from one side to the other. They needed tension, and they needed war. Thankfully, Hydra’s second plot for global domination wasn't even as successful as the third.

Edgar wasn’t there, then. It was Lester. It was Percival. Edgar was still soon to come, but he would know. He would have to know the names. Every single successful hit was logged, and it was his job to defend that information.

He tells that to Jack, once. She doesn't really react. It doesn't matter to her. Edgar is irrelevant. They don't need that information, too badly.

Until, of course, they do.

\---

“There's been reports-” Jack cuts herself off, as she flips through a thousand different photos of some asshole in a really stupid looking suit that reminds Ryan of a bug.

“Of what?” It's a gentle nudge to get Jack back on track. It works.

“There's some guy named Tim Rimmsworth running around, now. A new hero.”

“And? How do we know he's not some washout? We didn't have much luck with that demon guy.”

“Daredevil,” Jack corrects. “And this one’s different. Well, not him, really, but the guy who made the suit.”

“What about him? Rich?”

“Not quite. You want to see him?” Jack tilts her screen at him, and oh. Oh shit.

“That's not-”

“He's calling himself Ant-Man. He can shrink to the size of a grape.”

“How?”

“I don't know. We're going to see someone that might.”

\---

If Jack wanted a peaceful interrogation, she would have come along.

That's what he tells himself, as he shoves Edgar into the hard metal wall of the cell. The guards click their tongues, but neither of them say a word. They have both worked with Ryan, before. They know not to initiate a fight with an angry Vagabond.

“You're going to put me down.” Edgar orders, like this is two years ago and he is still the king. He doesn't seem to understand that the crown isn't in his hands, anymore.

“And if I don't? What are you gonna do?”

“I won't answer whatever you have to ask.”

Ryan holds him, still, and puts even more pressure against the scarred man. Edgar doesn't react. He only watches the Vagabond like a hawk.

“I can make you answer.”

“You and I both know that you can't.” It's said with a sneer, and in a way, he's right. He isn't a torturer. They never made him that. There was never a reason. He would kill Edgar, before he could ever try to get any information. Even now, he could crush the man’s throat.

“Don't be so sure.” Ryan says, just to have some sort of retort. He drops Edgar. Slowly, the prisoner flattens his jumpsuit.

“Oh, I am,” Edgar grins. “So, what're you here for? You want to talk about the weather?”

“I want everything you have on the Ant-Man.”

“Aw, it thinks it can order me around.” Edgar directs the statement to the guards. Neither respond.

“I can.”

“I _own_ you,” Edgar snaps, stepping closer to him. He isn't as tall as Ryan, or as broad, but he has an air of superiority that has him towering over everyone in the world. Ryan feels short, next to him. “It's time you remember that.”

“I'm free.”

“Are you so sure? At least I trusted you with a gun. I don't see you with one, now.” It's a jab that strikes a little too close to home. Ryan shrugs it off, but he can still feet the force of it.

They don't trust him. Geoff's auto rifle is proof enough of that.

Still, that isn't important, now. The only thing that matters is the information.

“At least I’m not here. You look awful in orange.” It clashes with the red and black skin.

“I'm more free here than you are out there, Vagabond. Stuck with the Hunters. Tell me, can you take a shit without one of them knowing?”

“I'm free.” He repeats.

Edgar laughs. “You don't know how to be free.”

“I'm not the one in chains.” Ryan says, glaring down at Edgar’s handcuffs.

The man shrugs. “Are you so sure about that? You don't look like you've changed much.”

Ryan’s eye twitches, dragging at his face paint. He isn't wrong.

“This isn't the point," Ryan shakes his head. "Ant-Man. What do you know about him?”

“This is the point, actually. I'll answer your question, when you answer mine. Do you really think you're free?”

“No, you don't do that, anymore. You don't control me!” This is getting to him and he knows it. He needs to calm down. He needs to find control, again.

“But Pattillo does, doesn't she?”

No. She doesn’t. She isn’t that type of person. She’s helped him, and she’s fought with him, and spent the past 15 months at his side. “She’s not like you.”

“Isn’t she? She didn’t even let you come alone, did she?”

She’s standing outside, but it doesn’t matter. That isn’t the point, and he needs to shut up. There’s a reason he’s here, and it isn’t to relieve Edgar’s boredom.

“Ant-Man. What do you know?” He’s getting snappy, and his mouth somehow twists into an even deeper frown.

“She doesn’t trust you. You don’t even have your knife on you. Pathetic. And you say she believes in you?” Edgar laughs.

It’s enough.

A fist drives into Edgar’s stomach, his chest, his face. Over and over again, like a piston, back and forth. With his fleshy hand, he holds the man down, and with his metal, he beats him senseless. Torn skin, bloody injuries, black and blue and yellow bruises. It warms Ryan’s heart.

The guards exchange glances, neither knowing exactly what to do. The Vagabond’s reputation precedes him. Neither of them are going to say a word to stop him.

Jack’s out there. She can stop him, if he goes too far. He doesn’t think she will, though. He has been waiting for this moment for too long- almost a century, at this point. He’s going to draw this out as much as he possibly can.

In one punch, six teeth hit the ground. With the next, another four. Old scars tear open on that burned red face, dripping blood across his jagged skull. He looks like Coal, when that mask was pulled off of his face. There is more skin, and more dimension to his features, but the similarity is there. It only makes Ryan angrier.

This is it. This is Hydra. This is the serpent that kept him down for decades. This is the conniving jackass that smothered Ryan Haywood. This is the man, who had him kill too many. He deserves everything he gets.

It isn't long before Edgar talks.

\---

“It’s him.”

\---

Geoff has connections- a lot of connections. Jack has her own cards to play, too. Even Gavin, Meg, and Lindsay get involved, pulling favors that they'd been sitting on for years. It takes days, before they even receive the first blip on the radar.

It’s almost nothing. There is a mostly-redacted file from a mission in East Berlin. There is mention of CODENAME-OPERATIVE harassing four Hydra agents, and nothing more. The picture, though, is the important part.

A short man, muscular, and dressed in a uniform that is entirely too similar to Rimmsworth’s. There are the same overstretched shoulders, the same wires running down the arm, and there is the same bug-like helmet. It’s a blurry image, but it’s enough to give them a clue.

He’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative. Suddenly, the connections can be utilized. Suddenly, they have the name. Suddenly, they have the history. Suddenly, they have an email.

Jack is the one, who contacts him. The response comes later that day.

\---

The Smithsonian is quiet at night.

He has only been here during the day, when a thousand faces walked past him, and the world was still too overwhelming. It was before he knew who he was, when Ryan was a foreign concept, and the fog was beginning to creep into his thoughts.

It feels strange to look at it, today, when he knows who he is. His thoughts are clear, and so is the distinction between Ryan and Vagabond. It isn’t as odd to look at the photographs, now. It’s who he is, and it’s who he was.

Jack is here, this time. She stands next to him, staring at the uniforms of the dead and the survivors. Dooley, Shadles, Bragg, Haywood, Pattillo, Gunerz. Each name is emblazed on a plaque beneath their clothes. Jack’s had to be replaced- that much is clear from the cleanliness of the fabric- but it doesn’t matter. This is their memorial. It isn’t Jack’s.

It doesn’t take Ryan long to notice the bug resting on the shoulder of his old uniform. A line of medals sits beneath it- most awarded during the war, but some given long after. Ryan doesn’t recognize most of those medals.

When he sees that Jack hadn’t noticed he decides to speak up. “You can come out, now.”

The bug stays in place. For a few moments, Ryan thinks that it might just be a normal bug. Of course, the world loves when he's wrong.

It leaps forward, and miraculously grows mid-air. A millimeter, suddenly extended to five feet and six inches. A barely-noticeable figure, now infinitely taller and larger. There aren’t really words to describe the change, but Ryan has watched Ray turn purple, before. This isn’t much different. Though, it’s a lot less intimidating.

A gloved hand reaches up, and rips the helmet off of his head. It hangs back on his shoulders, attached to his collar. He doesn’t have to worry about that. Smart. The Vagabond’s mask always used to have to be replaced. This is an interesting little innovation.

He doesn’t look much older than when they last saw him. His beard has a little more grey, and part of his hair is neon green, but it’s the same man. The years have been kind to him. He survived. Ryan missed the shot, or someone saved him, or a million other things. None of it matters. He lived. It’s another name crossed off of Ryan’s list of dead.

He is watching Jack, and his arms cross over his chest. His mouth is set into a thin line.

“You invited him?” He snaps, finally glancing over to Ryan. His jaw tightens, and he looks away quickly.

“Jeremy, it’s not what you-” Jack starts.

“Save it. Dude tried to kill me! Why the hell would you invite him?” Dooley looks back at Ryan- at the face paint that the Vagabond refuses to part with- and his scowl only gets deeper.

“It wasn’t him.”

“Who was it? The murdering tooth fairy?”

Jack starts to explain, but Ryan doesn’t bother with listening. It’s minutia at this point. He’s heard his own story enough. Rookies asking questions, while tools dug into his arm. Heroes trying to inform their allies. Heroes trying to tell _him_. Jack trying to explain it all to Burnie Burns, when the man finally re-encountered his attempted assassin.

It has gotten repetitive, so Ryan just focuses on the issue at hand.

Jeremy survived. How? A S.W.O.R.D. experiment? A medical breakthrough? A faulty shot? No, he was bleeding. Maybe it was just a graze?

And when did he get this power? Is he a super soldier? Did they change him, like they changed Jack, like they changed him? Was he bitten by a radioactive ant?

How is he even alive? He should be long gone, by natural means alone. He was an alcoholic in the 40’s. How the hell did he survive to 2016? How does he look so young? What the hell happened to him?

When Jack finishes her brief, Jeremy doesn’t look very impressed. Ryan doesn’t blame him. He wouldn’t forgive himself, if he was in Jeremy’s place. He doesn't, anyway.

Except, Jeremy doesn’t react quite like Ryan thinks he should. He clears his throat, and throws another look at the Vagabond.

“He said sorry. When he shot me, I mean. He said he was sorry.”

“I don’t remember that.” Ryan says. Did he do that? All he remembers is Jeremy’s begging and the incessant questions. He heard the word ‘traitor’, before he pulled the trigger.

“You did. Why would you say that, if you didn’t remember?” Ryan doesn’t have an answer. “And why did they pick you, anyway?"

“The base. When we were captured. They-"

“Always knew you'd be dangerous,” Jeremy interrupts. He doesn't say it to hurt, but Ryan flinches, anyway. “So, why should I trust you, huh?”

Ryan doesn't have an answer, so Jack tries, instead. “I trust him. He's C-Team.”

Jeremy's face softens. “Nah, not good enough. A blowjob and it's a maybe.”

Ryan gives a wary smirk that is far beyond awkward. “Sure. I can do that.”

Jeremy is shaking his hand, before Ryan can even contemplate what's happening. Apparently, all it takes to earn his trust is a recommendation from Jack. Jeremy had always been a little off of his rocker.

Still, he must have missed something. Jeremy hadn't been this responsive before. What the hell did he miss?

“I missed you guys.” At Ryan’s confused expression, the shorter man continues. “I heard about what happened on that Helicarrier thing, and I saw you start popping up a couple months ago. I figured something was up, but I didn't know it would be this.” He gestures from Ryan’s feet to his head. It's a fair assessment.

“So, why-”

“Man, I work with Rimmy goddamn Tim. He's tried to kill me twice, now. I think I can forgive you for once.”

“Thanks.”

“Besides,” Jeremy grins. “You owe me a new pair of sunglasses.”

\---

Rimmy Tim never quite joins their team, and Jeremy refuses to pick up the mantle, again. Something about how shrinking decelerates the aging process he'd said. He didn't want to make it worse.

Ryan doesn't know how he got the suit, or why, but it doesn't matter. It just means that Jeremy is alive, and that means that they aren't so alone in the world.

\---

Edgar is never released. Ryan only visits four times. Only on one occasion does Ryan not leave blood on the walls.

\---

Ray leaves the team. There's never a real reason, and never any resolution, but one day he's there, and the next day, the Hulk is in Nigeria.

\---

Kdin breaks free three times. Michael stops taking his shit after that.

\---

Lindsay, Gavin, Meg, and Ashley all find themselves with S.H.I.E.L.D. Level 8 clearance. Thanks to his mishap with Burns, Ryan remains at 0.

\---

Geoff actually does make a suit out of Phil's scales. A rocket is enough to convince him to retire it.

\---

Jack and Ryan continue on with their lives. They're soldiers. They aren't meant for much else.

\---

And occasionally, the nine heroes do find themselves working together. Some situations involve an AI, a God, an alien, or a bullet proof lizard man. It doesn't really matter, who it is.

Between a god, a short guy, a crazy former mercenary, a patriotic asshole, a metal man, two Paleolithchics, a bird woman, and an MMA fighter, no one can stop them. They're untouchable. They're the heroes that the world needs. They're symbols, representing the world much greater than them.

And just as the star on Jack’s chest becomes that symbol, so do the stripes on Ryan’s arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad if I included Jeremy just for the short joke?  
> But, anyway, that's the end! A long time writing it and a long time of editing and it's finally done. Thanks to anyone who read, kudosed, or commented, you guys are great!

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters won't have a schedule. I'm just going to post, whenever I finish editing each one.


End file.
